The Right to Rule
by Still Marauding
Summary: Freya is brought to Asgard in chains, her family torn apart. She swears revenge on her captors, sure of their brutal nature. But what she finds in Loki changes everything, though not necessarily for the better. Freya/Loki
1. Blood

_It began with blood._

_The blood of her father, and of her people. A long and bloody war ended with treachery and deception, a war that left the Vanir subjects of Asgard. Her proud people were forced to kneel before their false king, to swear allegiance to a vengeful and cruel ruler. They were but a peaceful people, gifted with foresight and gentle hearts, and it was perhaps that nature that cost them the war._

_She did not have a gentle heart._

_She was brought to their land in chains, borne upon a chariot for all to see her shame, her brother stood at my side, his head bowed in humble submission._

_Her head would never bow._

_She might have been brought to their land in chains, they may let her live as their captured princess, in borrowed silks and sparkling jewels, but she will never lay compliant. She will leave this land the jailer and they will quake underneath her glare._

_She will never be the pretty face they require, nor the marriage they see to solidify their claim to her land. She will never forget the blood they spilt to soak the her home, nor the sting of loss, nor the unspeakable horror as she watched Odin lift her father's severed head high for all to see. Or the cheers that followed from the residents of Asgard. She will not forget the sting of her shackles that prevented her from doing something, anything, that even as she strained they kept her from both the physical and magical retribution she sought. That she pushed anyway until her wrists broke under the force._

_For she is Valfreya, princess and rightful ruler of Vanaheim, and this her solemn oath. _

She entered the hall still shackled. Her actions had not gone unnoticed at the Triumph. Freyr walked next to me, free of his bonds. He was not a threat to them, nor truly to anyone. They had given him a castle in Alfheim where he was to serve as an ambassador to the Light Elves, though this was mere convenience for Odin, for he had stripped her brother of all previous titles and holdings.

However, he could not dispose of him in the way he had their father. Freyr was too well liked, even in Asgard. Exile suited him far better.

Today would be the last she saw of him.

"Everything will be fine, sister. We will be together soon enough. You will see," he said in a low voice so that the guards surrounding them could not hear. Freya looked up at him, her voice caught in her throat. She had never so much as spent a day without him. He was her brother, her twin, always looking out for her from the morning he was born. And now she was to be left, the younger without the elder, in the land of their captors.

He put a hand around her shoulders, his touch momentarily freeing her from her fears. She closed her eyes, memorizing the feeling before it too was taken away.

The moment ended far too soon as they were pulled to a stop. They were in the great hall now, the tables overflowing with food and drink, its occupants deafeningly making merry. It made Freya ill. Freyr was led to the far end of the high table and sat among Odin's ministers. She was pushed into an empty seat between the two princes of Asgard, one golden the other raven haired. She sat without a word, looking at neither one of them.

She knew why she was seated here. She knew why she wasn't being sent to Alfheim with her brother, to live out her days a figurehead in the land of the Elves.

She was a pawn that's usefulness had yet to cease. Now that her brother had been stripped publicly of his position and holdings, she remained the only heir to Vanaheim's throne. A very marry-able heir.

"Your loveliness knows no words, Princess," the blonde prince offered.

"Words must be hard to come by as they are not so easily stolen," Freya replied, staring at her plate. The prince seemed genuinely hurt by the sentiment.

"We wish you only happiness here, Princess. Surely-"

"If you wished me happiness, you would not have taken me from my home and killed my father."

"I-"

But the prince had nothing to say to that. What could he?

She sat for the rest of the meal in silence, touching nothing. Every so often the other prince would glance her way, but he would quickly turn and focus on something else when she caught him. She found him to be rather the more agreeable of the two.

Her wrists ached in their shackles, swollen and purple. Even if she had desired to eat, Freya suspected they would not even hold a knife. The manacles stopped her from doing anything to heal them, halting the flow of my magic.

At the end of the feast her chair was pulled back, startling her as a guard took hold of both of her arms. Across the table she could see the same thing happening to Freyr, and he was led towards the doors.

"Freyr!" she screamed, fighting against the guard. "Freyr-"

"Be good, sweet sister and farewell!" he called back as the doors slammed shut. All volition seemed to leave her then, and she sunk to her knees, held up only by the guard. Freya could feel the tears welling up behind her eyes. She did nothing to stop them from rolling down her cheeks. She looked back up at the table and found Odin, her rage flaring once more.

"Will you take away everything I love?" she cried, and she was proud her voice did not shake.

"Take her," he said by way of response and the guard pulled her towards a second set of doors and away from the hall.

Freya stood on the balcony of her new chambers, staring out into the night. Beneath her feet shattered glass crunched. They had still yet to remove her shackles. She had beat her way through the door, for she had been right; her hands could bear nothing, not even the turn of a handle. They now ran slick with blood, dumb tools at the ends of her arms.

Flickering lights illuminated the city below her. The sounds of music floated up, sending another wave of sickness through her. They were singing- rejoicing- at the death of her people, the ruination of her kingdom.

"Princess?"

Freya whipped around, her hands flying out in front of her. It was one of Asgard's princes, the raven-haired, silent one. He looked at her with sad green eyes, his brows furrowed in a look of concern.

"It seems to me that Odin has a habit of collecting the orphans he has made," she said as she surveyed the prince. There was something that seemed to reek of winter about him and she felt her mind rush to somewhere in the future where he would find his own face foreign to him, but she pushed it back. Why should she care what the future held for a prince of Asgard?

"Pardon me, I do not understand."

"Forget I said anything," Freya muttered, turning back to the sky. Not even it remained the same here, its constellations rearranged, it's color more black than deep blue. She could hear him moving behind her but didn't turn.

"I noticed your wrists," he said finally. Freya turned to stare once more at him, her face devoid of emotion. He looked uncomfortable. "It was cruel, what my father did to you- more than cruel. I am so very sorry."

He moved closer to her, his hands outstretched. Freya stood her ground, even as his hands came to cradle her own. His hands were cool to the touch, but not unpleasant.

She could feel a rush of magic soar into her hands, feel her broken bones knit back together and her bruises subside. Then, in a second wave of magic, her shackles fell to the floor with a loud clang.

"You have magic?" she asked, momentarily taken aback. Magic was not common among the Aesir as it was in Vanaheim. He looked at her, his expression changing to one of sarcasm.

"No, why would you think that?"

"Why did you help me?" she asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Because I think that we could be friends."

"I do not have a good record in the practice."

"Still, you do not have to be alone. I've heard about you. I believe we have more in common than you think."

"What is your price then, o Prince?" Freya asked mockingly. Everything had one, she had learned. "Of what use am I to a great prince of Asgard?"

He looked slightly taken aback. Perhaps he had meant it sincerely. She wasn't sure that made a difference. But then he answered, his face set.

"I require your company tomorrow."

_The fields were burning._

_Freya could see the flames rising from the window, could taste the smoke as it choked her. She felt helpless, locked in the tower like some frail princess of Midgard, dependent on a prince to rescue her from the destruction below. _

_She was no such princess. She made for the bookcase closest to the window, the one that concealed the secret set of stairs only she and Freyr knew about. _

_There was a great clattering behind her. She whirled round as the door behind flew open and Freyr was thrown into the room. He was clad in full armor. It gleamed oddly in the light of the fires, half silver, half gold. He righted himself, just in time to see a horde of Asgardian warriors spill into the room. _

_He pulled his sword from his sheath, preparing to give her time to run, she realized. She stood frozen, her chest heaving with anger as they attacked._

_"__Duck you fool," Freya called, her own white gold armor clinking as she threw out her arm. Freyr threw himself to the ground and covered his head. A blast of nearly invisible energy shot from Freya's palm, causing the warriors to tumble over like dominos, some dead, some unconscious. _

_Freyr rose and turned to her. She could see a cut bleeding freely from underneath his eye. "Go now!" he called, motioning towards the hidden stairs. "They can't find you. You have to hide—"_

_"__I won't," she spat stubbornly, her face twisted into a scowl. "Vanaheim is burning— Our people are burning—"_

_"__And what will happen if the Aesir get hold of you? They've no idea what you're capable of, imagine the uses they will find for you if they see—"_

_"__I will not stand as my people die, not when I could prevent it."_

_She turned on her heel, ignoring protests form Freyr, and pulled open the secret stair case. Instead of climbing as Freyr had ordered she descended, pulling her helm over her face. _

_The base of the stairway led out into the castle's entryway. Iron clashed against iron, screams tore at the stone ceiling, begging for release. _

_Freya stooped at the side of one of her fallen guards. An Asgardian spear had pierced through his breast plate, leaving him in a pool of his own blood. Freya pulled his sword from his grasp. His hand was still warm. _

_"__Sleep well, and rejoice in the fields of Folkvagnr," she whispered before throwing herself into battle. _

_The great hall looked like Náir. Corpses from both sides littered the floor as the fight raged on. In the pandemonium, no one noticed her entry._

_She let the magic engulf her, blur her appearance enough so that she was able to slip behind the Asgardian line, disguised as one of them. She summoned the power into her hands, letting the disguise slip from her features. _

_She blasted the ranks ahead of her, leaving them broken and bloody on the stone floor. Footsteps sounded from behind her and Freya turned, drawing her own sword so she held one in each hand. She parried the oncoming blow from one of the soldiers with her swords, throwing him back. With a second, brutal stab she thrust it through his eye, letting him drop like a doll. _

_A second horde rushed at her and she hurled the guard's sword. It slipped between one of the Asgardian's helm and breast plate, nearly decapitating him. This left her free to wipe the rest out with another surge of energy. _

_"__Valia!" Freyr called from behind her. She turned at the sound of his voice. She felt the weight of a blow hit her from behind and skewered her assailant without turning around. She felt hope rising in her for the first time._

_She did not look behind her._

_The second blow hit her in the helm, sending her ears ringing. She fell to her knees, tasting blood in her mouth. Before she could muster the strength to fight back, the blackness overtook her. _

_Freya was brought before the Allfather, bruised and bloody and full of rage. They had stripped her of her armor, clothed her instead in some red silk dress, no doubt in order to hide the blood. She was unsure if it was hers or theirs. _

_Her hands were bound in shackle, ones which she knew prevented her from using any sort of magic. She knew because she'd tried, over and over, until she was thrown down on all fours in front of Odin. _

_"__The Necromancer, Allfather," snarled one of the guards._

_Freya spat at Odin's feet. "I hope on of your infernal ravens tears out your other eye, old man."_

_Freyr always counseled her against such rash behavior. If only she had listened. Odin surveyed her, impassive. _

_"__Get her up. Sound the horns," Odin said as he rose. Freya was yanked to her feet forced to follow behind as Odin strode from the tent. _

_"__The Vanir will never stop fighting, not when they still have hope. It's time to take that hope away," Odin said as he walked._

_"__Never— You'll never be able to stop them, not while my father stands against you."_

_"__Precisely," he said, coming to a halt. _

_"__Njord!" Odin called, the fields of battle suddenly silent. "It is time to end this war. I charge your daughter's life for your surrender."_

_The guards led her roughly towards the gates. She bit and screamed but it did little to impede them. She could hear the war horns overhead, their cries shaking the ground. They threw her down in front of the pyre, fastening her hands to the great wooden stake. _

_Odin appeared behind her, his voice echoing upward, to where she could see her father emerging, battle-worn and bloodstained from the tower balcony. Freya could see the shock, the fear as he saw her there, could hear murmuring run through the crowd as unease settled among them. _

_He disappeared, back inside the tower. A clamoring arose from the far side of the battle field, from inside the halls of our castle. Father appeared, looking horrified, Freyr close behind. _

_"__Don't Father!" she cried, throwing herself forward, against the chains her captors held. "I'd die a thousand times if it meant Vanaheim would be free!"_

_"__No-" Njord called, watching in horror as one of the guards handed Odin a torch. "Valfreya!"_

_He ran to the gates, blocked by Asgardians. He threw down his glove, challenging him. Odin stepped forward, wielding his sword. Freya struggled against her bonds, eyes glued to the battle before her._

_It was over far too soon. Her father was old, no longer the warrior he had been. He stooped, far too slow, and Odin beheaded him, raising his head up for all to see. The crowd behind him cheered, even as the Vanir before then fell to their knees, wailing to the heavens. She could not see Odin's face. Freya screamed, still fighting against her bonds, but there was nothing, no magic she could perform that would bring him back. _

Freya woke, breathing heavily. Tears clung to her lashes. She looked up at the ceiling above her, still shrouded by night.

She flipped her wrists over, staring at them. They were healed and unbound, with no remnant of the trauma they had suffered.

She wished it had only been a nightmare.


	2. Equals

Freya awoke the next morning from a long stream of nightmares. Her head ached and her throat felt scorched, as though she'd spent the night screaming. She wondered if she had.

Across her bed lay a new dress. It was crimson. She wondered if it too was to be used to disguise blood today. Perhaps today she would suffer another, more public beating. It was finer than the one that she had been stuffed into for her burning. Perhaps the Allfather had something grander in mind.

Freya sat at the dressing table and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked pale, her hair nearly white in the morning sun. She braided back her silver strands hurriedly, her green eyes staring back solemnly. She thought vaguely of visiting Freyr when the memories of the night before crept back, unbeckoned.

"Be good, sweet sister."

She pushed back the chair suddenly and crossed to the door, heaving it open. She was surprised. She had thought it would be locked. Her chambers led out into a long corridor, finely furnished and warm, with guards stationed every few yards. She felt her stomach drop at that, but they made no move to stop her as she set out.

Freya wished she had paid more attention the night before, that she could have seen through her tears. The palace of Asgard proved to be a labyrinth, each turn leaving her further and further lost. She could hear shouting now. She made for the noise, lifting her skirts to aid in her haste.

She arrived in a courtyard streaming with sunshine, illuminating a practice ring in which two dueled while several more milled about, watching their progress. One of the duelers was a woman. It made her smile, if only a little. It reminded her of home.

"Ah, you found it alright then."

Freya whipped around. It was the raven-haired prince once more. "Why am I allowed to roam free?"

"You are not a prisoner here."

"Do not lie to me," She said bitterly.

He sighed. "Yes, of course you are a prisoner here. But not the ordinary kind. You must of course stay here to maintain peace within the realms, but I assure you, you are not meant to be unhappy."

"Then why the chains? Why the show? You claim that you wish to be my friend. Tell me the truth." Freya's chin stuck out stubbornly as she surveyed the prince, her eyes narrowed.

"It was but a show. The might of Asgard and all that nonsense. And you are rather unpredictable," he glanced down, taking her hands in his. Freya pulled them away. "How are your wrists?"

"No longer broken," she said sharply. To her own surprise, she felt a twinge of regret. "Thank you. For that."

"It was nothing."

Freya allowed him to lead her to a bench overlooking the fighting. Several glances from those milling about led her to believe that this was not the prince's usual sort of behavior. This didn't make her feel any better.

She was beautiful- Even a blind man could see her beauty. She had glowing porcelain skin and hair like fine silver. Her eyes were like emeralds under her thick lashes, but it wasn't that.

But it was more than that. Something about this girl, this strange, unfathomable girl had caught his interest and even more surprisingly, his sympathy, though Loki knew this was the last thing she wished. She was strong-willed and stubborn to a fault. He had seen that from the dais where he and the other courtiers had watched the parade. How she had stood, straight and tall atop the cart full of treasures from her homeland. How she had strained to get at a golden sword just out of reach until her wrists had snapped in her effort. How even then she held the shaking sword until she could no longer bear it and it tumbled from her grasp without her permission.

There was something in those eyes that spoke to him, that drove him to want to know her, to learn her story. Loki glanced over at her. She gazed down at her hands, turning them in her lap, alternately flexing them into fists.

She was interesting in a realm that was so consistently dull.

Loki looked up as his brother approached, followed by the Warriors Three and Sif. Thor's face betrayed his feelings at the comments she had made the night previous. For all of his war-mongering, he seemed to take little joy in this token of victory.

"Princess-" he began, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

"Do not shame me with false titles. Valfreya will do," she said quietly. Her hands were in fists. Thor bowed his great head.

"Valfreya. I am truly sorry for your heartache. If there is anything within my power to ease it, just call upon the name of Thor.

"And I, Fandral."

"And I, Hogan."

"And I, Volstagg."

She nodded, but said nothing else. They went back to their sparring, occasionally throwing glances back at the princess, but she remained at his side, her gaze unwaveringly focused on her hands.

The sun was at the top of its peak when she spoke next. "And who are you then, he who calls himself my friend?"

I was surprised at her remark. I had known the Vanir were cut off from the other realms, but to not know the names of high nobility of other realms was slightly absurd. Truly she must have spent her time with her head buried in the sand. "I am Loki."

"Then tell me Loki, what am I to do here?"

Loki was rather taken aback by her question. He didn't answer, merely stared back at her, trying once again to work out what sort of girl she was. Not one to sit and wait to be told. After a moment of silence she got up and crossed to the ring, hefting a sword as she entered. The warriors stared at her, rather bemused expressions on their faces.

"What are you doing my lady?" Fandral asked, a winning smile plastered on his face. She surveyed him with distaste.

"It is midday, and I wish to train."

Sif laughed, staring disdainfully at the girl's dress. "Now you allow any pretty face to train with you Fandral? I remember a time you took quite some convincing."

Valfreya turned and shot her a scathing look. "I am not just a pretty face _shield maiden_. You would do well to learn to mind your tongue on matters you know nothing of."

Loki laughed. He couldn't help himself.

"You wish to train then, _Princess?_" Sif asked mockingly. "Put your sword where your mouth is. Or are you wary of ripping your precious silks?"

"They will do well to hide any blood you might end up shedding upon my blade," Valfreya replied, her voice even—dangerous.

The others backed off, mesmerized. The two women began to circle one another, their eyes locked on one another. Loki watched with bated breath.

Sif struck first, lunging with her sword. But Valfreya moved swiftly, not even bothering to raise her blade. She ducked out of the way, continuing her circle. She did this several more times. Each time Sif struck she was long gone, without even the clang of metal. Sif snarled under her breath, frustrated.

It was over in a flash. If Loki had blinked, he'd have missed it. Sif struck once more and Valfreya darted to the side, but this time she grabbed Sif's outstretched hand as she kicked her feet out from under her. Sif fell, hard, the blade of Valfreya's practice sword at her throat.

"Do you yield?"

"I yield."

Sif looked positively furious. Valfreya looked positively bored. She stepped back and looked back towards me, her green eyes gloomy. Then she proffered her hand to Sif and helped her to her feet.

"Next?" she asked, turning to the others.

Valfreya fought each in turn, first Hogan, then Volstagg, then Fandral, and finally Thor. Each fell before her and her rage, each matched and then out matched. It was only with Thor that she used her powers, betraying to the others that she possessed any. One small shield of energy when deferring a blow from Thor's hammer.

She used his shock to her advantage, knocking him off balance as she had done with Sif. The others looked at her with wide eyes, eyes that then held fear. I reveled in it. I felt that perhaps it had been her magic that had called to me, masked by her strength of will.

I got up, the whole thing making sense now. _At last. An equal._

Loki approached as the others stared on, dumbstruck. They hadn't known she had magic. Until now. Of course it didn't make any difference. Odin knew. Odin had seen. There could be no magical escape from the halls of Asgard.

"My turn, I think," Loki said, a grin spreading across his face. A grin that scared Freya. He was not like the others, he surveyed me, pondering, making no move towards his weapon. She felt at once that she had her work cut out for her- the others had been easy, a way to get rid of all the anger building up inside of me.

He struck so fast Freya barely had time to deflect his attack. The blade hung in midair, razor sharp. She plucked it from the air and flung it behind her, suddenly infuriated. She sent a bolt of energy his way, but he dodged it lithely, laughing as he did so.

Suddenly there were twelve of him, all laughing and jumping about. They threw their blades at the exact same time, all lightning fast. Freya ducked, sending out a pulse of energy that radiated all around, disintegrating the blades. Then he was right next to her, blade raised, grinning madly. She made a split second decision, raising her hand as she rolled away.

There was blood everywhere, pouring from the stump of my arm, cut off just below the elbow. Freya could hear the others gasp as she fell to her knees, cradling the bleeding remains. She could hear the others vaulting the ring's fence, their cries echoing across the courtyard. Loki knelt before her, his green eyes wide, hand outstretched, fingers already bristling with magic-

But she was faster.

Freya scooped up his fallen blade and jumped on top of him, knocking him off balance. She pressed the blade to his throat, the magic fading away, her mostly unharmed arm reappearing once more. He had been faster than Freyr, who was her usual target, slicing into the skin of her forearm. She leaned down until her mouth was at his ear. "I win."

She could feel his pulse race under her, feel the movement of his chest. The vision came back to her, swirling and dissident and wholly undecipherable. I found myself lost in its freezing grasp, drowning in the weight of it. I was missing something important, some piece of the picture I was staring at-

"I yield," Loki said, suddenly bringing her back to reality. She rolled off of him, handing him his knife grip first. She clutched her bleeding arm, ignoring the other's cheers in the background. She gathered that Loki was not often bested. Instead, she stared back at Loki, a sense of dread filling her.


	3. Truths

Days, and then weeks past and Freya fell into a routine. Thor and his friends truly were not as horrible as Freya had imagined (foregoing the Lady Sif), as much as she hated to admit. It made it so much harder to hate them. She didn't, in fact. If it were under other circumstances she would have greatly liked to be their friend.

She spent her days alone, closeted away in her room. She hadn't gone back to the practice yard. She couldn't allow herself to become placid. They were not her friends, and she not theirs. She was a prisoner and they her captors.

Freya found herself missing Freyr more than ever. He had a way of finding the bright side of any situation, the uncanny ability to make her feel better, even in the worst of times. Even at the end of the war when they burned the fields as they marched on their palace, he told her of how the ash would nurture the crops when they replanted, bringing them back tenfold. Freya could never find the good in things as he was able to. She saw the darkness in people, the worst of everything. She saw the path to victory paved in blood. Her father had been like Freyr, ever the optimist.

To his last breath.

She would not make his mistakes.

Loki knocked on the door once more. Freya knew it was him. Three knocks, sharp and clear. At first she had answered the door, but now she left it shut, keeping him at bay with her silence. If it were Thor, she knew, the hinges would threaten to give out.

She shouldn't have gone out in the first place. Then she wouldn't feel this ache in her heart. Freya thought that besting them in battle would help to sate her anger and fear, but it did nothing of the sort. It left her with comrades she did not want.

The room disappeared before her eyes, transporting her into the realm of uncertainty, the realm of the future. Now familiar shapes swarmed before her eyes, drowning her in their incomprehensible nature. These visions kept coming to her, filling her with dread, though she knew not their nature.

This one was different though. The shapes seemed to settle, solidifying before her eyes. Freya was filled with fear—she was running towards something at the end of the rainbow bridge, but suddenly there was no bridge, only blackness and she was screaming and she didn't know why but she was filled with such a sharp sense of loss that everything spun, and suddenly she was falling too, into the too-black sky towards unfamiliar constellations—

"Freya! FREYA!"

She was being shaken. She was on the floor of her balcony, a figure kneeling over her. Loki. His blue eyes were wide above her.

"What the _hell_ were you doing?" he shouted. His eyes were angry now, his mouth set.

Freya's breath rattled out of her chest, her body still seized with panic. Her heart slammed against her ribs at a frightening pace, filling her ears with its pounding. She turned her head and surveyed the dizzying drop below into the gardens. Her stomach clenched sickeningly. She closed her eyes and thought longingly of home.

Loki stared at Freya, lying sprawled on the ground, her eyes squeezed shut and her brows furrowed. His heart pounded in his chest as he looked at her, safe upon the stone balcony, her silver hair fanned across his lap. He wanted to reach out, to feel the softness of it, to cup her face in his hands just to reassure himself that she was, in fact, alright.

If he had stepped out onto his balcony a second later, or if he had been buried, as he so often was, in a book, she would have been gone. She had stepped up on the railing of the balcony, her eyes shut, her arms outstretched, reaching. It was her expression which perplexed him, however, tormented as it was. Almost as if she were not the one willing her foot to step forward into empty air.

Loki had leapt from his balcony to hers and tore her from the railing, knocking her to the floor in his haste. She had seemed just as frightened, just as surprised as he had been to find herself out on the balcony.

He stared at her as she lay curled on the stones, her eyes squeezed shut and her fists balled up. His anger began to ebb away to something else, something nameless that lay between pity and curiosity.

Loki brushed the hair away from her face and tucked it gently behind her ear. She looked up at him then, her brows still furrowed. Her eyes shone. In little more than a whisper she said, "Thank you."

"Are you alright?" He asked, his own brows furrowing. She nodded, but offered no further explanation. He waited a few moments before asking.

"Sedir, she said finally, after turning the question over in her mind. The concept was relatively foreign to him. Loki knew that through it one could see into the future, though he knew little else of what it entailed. It was not practiced in Asgard.

Freya sat up, her back against the balcony railing. She looked at him a moment before continuing, perhaps noting his confusion. "I was lost in a vision, and my feet believed they were lost as well."

She had an odd way of explaining things, just like she had an odd way of pronouncing the Common Language.

"A vision," he said finally, his curiosity peaked, "What did you see?"

She stared back, looking perplexed. "It is not that simple."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, the future is not a book that you read from. It is living, breathing, changing. Nothing is set, everything is just pieces of what might pass."

"Then what were you seeing? Why did you nearly leap from that balcony?"

She stared at him for a moment, her face heavy with sorrow. Loki almost regretted asking, but he was too intrigued by the prospect of an insight into the future.

"I saw the Rainbow Bridge. And I felt oblivion."

Loki stared at her, mouth slightly open. He had no idea what it meant, what it was supposed to tell him.

"I could—" Freya began, reaching a hand towards his temple, but she stopped herself and looked away.

Loki stood and reached out a hand to help her up. She looked up at him, confused, before taking his hand. She seemed more resigned than anything else. He led her back, out through his chambers and into the halls. She had not ventured out into them since the first day, he knew, though as to why he wasn't sure. Regardless, he thought the walk would do her good.

Loki had never seen war. Of course, as an heir to the Asgardian throne he had fought in battles, but never ones that would pose any real risk to his safety. He was still too young to be tested in that way, or at least that was what his father believed.

Freya had seen war, he knew, though she was younger than he. And, depending on who you asked, Loki knew that she may have fought as well.

There were rumors swirling amongst those who had fought, tales of a great necromancer in white armor who had slain whole companies of soldiers with a wave of their hand. A necromancer who disappeared during the last battle, allowing the Aesir forces to take Vanahiem's capital city.

And I knew now from her excursion to the training field that she could fight, and fight well.

Loki suddenly realized that in his pondering he had not noticed that Freya was no longer walking at his side. He turned, momentarily losing the composure he so prided himself on.

He crept back through the hall, his head swiveling, hoping to catch sight of the gleam of the silver hair that would give her away.

He found her in the library, just standing in the doorway, staring up at the books that stood in neat little rows, three stories high. Her mouth was slightly open, her eyes round with wonder. He felt his lips curl into a slight smile.

"Do you like it?" he asked, pushing open the other oaken door open so they stood wide. She stared at him in the odd fashion of hers, like she was caught between two emotions. She nodded mutely, trailing like a shadow as he led her through the shelves.

"You must have had a library such as this in Vanaheim," he said, trying to start a conversation. She shook her head.

"Ours was only small. Most of our stories are not passed through pages, but through the tongue." It was the first time Loki had seen her pulled free of her melancholy, seen the girl underneath the battle-worn exterior.

"Find something you wish to read then. I shall be at that table, by the windows," he said, pointing towards the second floor, where an ornate mahogany table sat flanked by two plush golden armchairs. She nodded and he left, quietly, crossing to the well-worn ladder which led to the upper floor. From there he could watch her without her knowledge. Loki always found it was easier to see into the heart of a person when they thought they were alone.

She crisscrossed through the many shelves, her fingers lingering on the spines of the books as if they were long lost friends. After a few moments she selected one and sunk down onto the floor, cross-legged, and began to read.

"She is strong," came a voice to his left. Loki turned to find his mother standing next to him, leaning over the railing, she too staring at the girl. "She is still young, younger than you. Young hearts are more easily swayed. She will be alright my son."

"I fear for her," he said, honestly, looking up at her delicately lined face. "She is so rash, so full of hate and yet I fear that this was not her nature."

Loki stared down at Freya, the book still clutched in her hands. She'd pulled her knees up to her chest, rested her chin on them as she read.

"You have an effect on her. She is far less so when she is around you. She'll make you a very fine queen one day."

"Mother, I don't understand. I don't-"

"This is hard on all of us dear. Blood has been spilt and passions awoken. But you show her great kindness. I am proud of you."

Loki nodded, looking back down at the girl. She was completely immersed in her book now, her slivery hair falling in front of her face. She pushed it behind her ears impatiently, her eyes dancing back and forth across the pages. He turned back to Frigga, but she was gone, as so often was her nature.

Loki climbed back down the ladder and wound his way through the aisles to where Freya was seated on to floor. He sat next to her, peering to see what she was reading about. It was a volume of poetry by several prominent Light Elves. She traced her finger down the page as she read, mouthing the words to herself. For a long while he thought she hadn't noticed his arrival, immersed as she was in her tome, but then she spoke.

"Have you ever been to Alfheim?"

"Once, though I hardly remember. I was very young at the time," he replied, watching her face. She kept it buried in the book, though he knew that she was no longer reading.

"I hope that it is as beautiful a place as it is described in these poems. It always seemed Freyr enjoyed beauty most of all," she replied, sadness slipping into her voice.

"The whole of Alfheim seems to be green," Loki said, driven to speak by something he couldn't quite explain. Perhaps it was his mother's words or the weight that seemed to rest upon her shoulders. "And there are forests as old as the realm itself. They say it holds every shade of green."

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. He went on, struggling to remember every detail from his childhood visit. "The castle sits in the middle of one of the forests, on the banks of a waterfall. It is built around the trees, its stone's removed to make way for them, and in some places the floors give way to the river. Flowers grow from the walls and many of the ceilings open so they can see the stars on a clear night."

She stared at him, her brows furrowed. She opened her mouth and then closed it again before finally speaking. "Do you think Freyr could be happy there?"

"I do," he said, nodding. She glanced down at the book in her hands before gentle closing it and nestling it back into its place on the shelf.

"I just had to know to what sort of place Freyr had been taken," she said quietly. She gave me a small smile. A sincere one.


	4. Bargining

Loki kept going over his mother's words in his head. He wasn't sure why he was so shocked, though perhaps shocked wasn't quite the right word. He wasn't sure what was. Though he had never had any doubt that Freya was to be wed to either his brother or he, he had assumed she was to marry Thor, as he was the eldest. Though perhaps this made more sense. He doubted that Thor could ever hope to understand Freya, especially since he himself found her to be an enigma.

Loki had to admit to himself, he wasn't all that opposed to the idea. There were far less desirable maidens he could be forced to marry in order to secure peace amongst the realms. Girls who were as transparent as paper screens and held the same amount of substance.

He knocked on her door early the next morning. Politely at first, then with more fervor when there was no answer. Finally he opened it, throwing civility aside. The chambers were lavishly decorated, if slightly smaller than his own. The furniture was carved from the same, near ebony wood, though instead of emerald, the hangings were violet. Bookshelves built floor to ceiling lay empty, though the spacious wardrobe stood full of the same lavish silks that had been sent up upon her arrival.

She seemed nowhere in sight. Loki crossed to the bedchamber, a very large part of him fearing that she had yet again wandered out atop the balcony railing, a symptom of a vision or her melancholy, he was still uncertain. It seemed she was prone to rash fits of passion, no matter how ill-advised the action.

The bedchamber was in very near darkness, the curtains drawn tight to block out the morning sun. Freya lay atop the bed her hand stretched upwards towards the ceiling.

Loki paused, his eyes tracing her figure. Her hair lay moon bright across the covers. Her eyes were far away, the only thing dark in her porcelain features. Everything about her physical appearance seemed delicate and graceful and feminine. Not at all the sort of girl who broke her own wrists to prove a point.

Truly a riddle of a girl.

"Vanaheim has two moons," she said softly. His brows furrowed for a moment. He looked up, following her hand towards the ceiling. His confusion was traded for awe.

She had painted the night sky on the ceiling. But it was like no night sky he'd ever known. Two moons sat side by side, one a great deal larger than the other. Scattered around them were familiar constellations, though they were shuffled around. They winked back at him like real stars, just as the moons seemed to shine just as the real ones did.

"Its winter in Vanaheim," she said finally, spreading her outstretched fingers. Real snowflakes fluttered from the ceiling, settling in her hair and eyelashes. I caught some in his hand, perplexed.

"How are you doing that?" Loki asked. No one in Asgard was able to manipulate nature in such a way. She shrugged, closing her eyes. He knew she was picturing home, wherever that was. There was such sadness behind her eyes. He could see it, even behind her barely concealed anger.

"If we don't hurry, we will miss breakfast."

"I'm not hungry," she lied. He could nearly always tell when someone was lying. He supposed it was because he did it so much himself.

"Regardless, the Allfather has requested your presence."

She turned to look at him, her eyes narrowed, jaw set. She gave him the distinct impression of one not to trifle with.

Loki had heard tell of her from Thor the previous night, learned that she had leveled an entire regiment within the great hall of her palace, leaving not a single Asgardian alive. Thor had wondered aloud whether those who had told him had been mistaken, whether it was some other Vanir sorceress.

"She is simply too delicate a maiden," he had said as they made their way up the stairs to their bedchambers. "Did you see how she wept for her brother? I do not know why father would not send them to Alfheim together."

"Did you see her wrists?" Loki had asked, remembering their bruised skin underneath the heavy shackles.

"Her wrists? I was too busy trying to avoid her wrath. She has a sharp tongue. Understandable, of course, under the circumstances, but I fear her not. There is no bite to her."

He had bid Thor goodnight but could not seem to get the girl out of his mind.

_"Odin has a habit of collecting the orphans he has made."_

Loki found himself repeating her words over and over to himself, though she had dismissed it. It seemed such an odd thing to say, though after yesterday, her fit or vision or whatever the Vanir went into that allowed them to see the future, he found himself wondering if it meant something more. What, he hadn't the slightest idea.

Freya rose, breaking his contemplation. He turned, leading her from the room in silence. Loki wasn't sure what to say. What did the prince of the victorious kingdom say to the imprisoned princess of the loser?

They descended the stairs in silence. Freya didn't look at him, once more frigid, icy. The openness they had shared the day before seemed to have melted away. They entered the small family breakfast nook in silence, Freya trailing behind him, her face settling into a scowl.

The room was filled with the smell of roasting meats and fresh breads, the tables laden with fruit, some unrecognizable. Loki supposed that these were from Vanaheim. Freya confirmed his suspicions. Her hands tightened into fists.

He paused, pulling out the seat next to his own. Freya sat with a murmured thanks. Odin's good eye narrowed in dislike as he saw her. She stared down at the table mutely. Thor beamed, surveying them both happily, his mouth full.

"Finally," Odin said, turning away from them. Frigga sat uncomfortably next to him. Loki knew she disapproved of Freya's treatment, but she was loath to go against the Allfather's wishes. She caught Loki's eye and nodded encouragingly. Freya's eyes were instead fixed on the strange purple fruits from Vanaheim. They withered in front of his eyes.

The hall was left in uneasy silence. Thor was the first to speak. "What happened to those purple fruits?"

"They do not like to be so far from their home," Freya replied, her tone bitter, pointed. Thor pursed his lips and looked away guiltily.

They ate in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, carefully avoiding one another's eyes. All except Freya. She ignored her full plate, instead glaring at Odin. "When will I see my brother again?"

Loki turned towards her, horrorstruck. Her face was set, her eyes burning. Odin turned to face her, his own face clouded with anger.

"Perhaps when I am able to see my brother again," he said sharply, his eyes narrowing. Freya gripped the table, her knuckles white. Odin continued. "It has been a year today since he was _taken_ from us."

"Shall I bury my father than also? When eons have further defiled his body?"

"Will you excuse us?" Loki asked, his hand wrapping itself around Freya's upper arm, desperately trying to defuse the situation. Odin ignored him.

"No," thundered Odin, rising from his throne-like seat at the head of the table. Frigga placed her hand soothingly on his forearm, her face comforting. Odin threw her off. "Today we must make sure that everything is prepared for Vé's memorial."

"And what of my father's?" Freya spat back. "What of my father's funeral? How will he be ushered into Folkvagnr?"

Odin stared at Freya, his chest heaving. Red spots were beginning to appear on his cheeks. This was a bad sign, Loki knew, but Freya seemed to be beyond the point of reason. "He faced you in single combat, fought and died with honor. He was a king, a king of an entire realm who loved him. You took him from his home. You paraded his head through your streets in dishonor as a show of your own might."

"And what of my brother? What kindness did your people show to him? There was no burial for him, no—"

"How would you know?" shouted Freya. "You never set foot on Vanaheim's soil until your soldiers had already scorched it bare. You heard tales of sedir and magic and of your brother's death and you blamed the Vanir. You never asked what had become of him, only brought war!"

"I had already heard what had become of my dear brother. I did not need to listen to the spun lies of witches' tongues!"

"If only you had listened, and spared my realm its rivers of blood!" Freya shouted, standing. The room had fell into deadly silence. Still, she raged ahead. "I would tell you what became of Vè, but it is clear that you would not listen. But listen to this: Njord was my father and he faced you in battle with nothing but honor. My father would still be alive if not for my failings. Please let me honor him. Let me send him to the open fields of Folkvanr, where he can join my mother in eternity."

Freya's voice had long softened by the end of her speech, her grip on the table becoming slack. Her gaze dropped to survey her untouched plate, her lip trembling. Loki suddenly felt a sharp stab of sadness twist his gut. He knew the Vanir tradition that only allowed those who had died in battle or in child birth to enter Folkvagnr. He suddenly felt guilty for never wondering where her mother might be or why she wasn't with one of her children.

He opened his mouth to plead for her, but it was Thor who beat me to it. "Certainly Father, you could allow her to have a small burial. If she is to live out her days in Asgard, as you have said, certainly you could afford her some small kindnesses?"

Odin surveyed Thor for a moment, his face softening, if only slightly. I doubted Father would have looked at me in the same fashion, had I spoken the same words. Father thought a moment before turning back to where Freya still stood.

"If—_if_ she behaves herself tonight at the memorial. I'll consider it," Odin said stonily. "That's my final word on it."

"Thank you Father, you're most generous," Thor said, looking relieved. Odin turned to look Freya in the eyes.

"It is for my son that I do this for. Not for you. Remember that."


	5. Games

Freya made no protest as Loki pulled her from the room. A heavy, sick sort of feeling was settling in her stomach, Odin's words resounding in her ears.

She was a prisoner in Asgard, despite the fine clothes she wore and the castle they allowed her to live in—as surely as if they had locked her in the dungeons below. She had forgotten that in the last few weeks, forgotten that in wake of Loki's kindness, of his trips to the library with her and his walks through the garden.

Her jaw clenched as she felt her frustration bubble to the surface, her shame at forgetting her place and her situation. She had no right to become placid in the nest of her captures.

Loki stared at her, his brows furrowed, eyes glinting. She turned away, trying to push those feelings back down into the pit of her stomach. He was her enemy, she knew—or he was supposed to be. But she didn't—couldn't—believe it.

Do you insist on being so recklessly stupid?" Loki said, his tone sharp. Freya looked up, surprised, though his words incensed her. Couldn't he see? Couldn't he understand?

"Is it reckless if one has nothing to lose?" she spat back, affronted. She took a step back from him, wrenching her arm from his grasp. He merely advanced on her, his features splitting into anger.

Loki sighed, exasperated. "Can you not see that I am trying to help you? Regardless of your wishes, you are here now, and Father will not send you back to Vanaheim, not until you've married and he controls the Realm completely. And even then, if you are a risk—" Loki paused, staring at her intently. "It's a game Freya— all of it. It's only a game. And the sooner you realize this, the better off you'll be here. Now let me help you."

Freya stared at him, caught between anger and the terrifying realization that he was absolutely right. She felt my hands ball into fists. She looked away, her expression still stormy, though inside, she felt as though she were breaking.

"I don't want my whole life to be a game," she said softly. The words escaped her lips, never meant to be spoken.

When Loki next spoke, his words were true, though his voice softened. "Regardless of wishes, here we are, dice cast and thrown a top the board by no choice of our own. What we can choose is what to do with our lot."

Freya nodded, silently, and stared down at her feet for a moment, her mind racing. "Show me how to play the game."

"I hate this," Freya said hatefully, staring off at something that wasn't there. Loki sighed, giving her a look.

"You know what is at stake here. You've been given all the pieces, now you simply have to hold them together for a night," he said, trying to sound as if he believed it.

"You know that's not true. This will be every night, and every day until the end of mine," she said, sounding distraught. She pulled at the fine red cloth of the dress she wore, delivered hours before for her to wear to the memorial, along with a choker of amber at her throat. A handmaiden had done up her hair in the current Asgardian fashion, weaving gold and glimmering topaz into her silvery hair until it resembled a crown a top her head.

Loki could not deny that she looked beautiful, but the style didn't suit her. She looked so out of place dressed as one of us. He wondered if his father would notice, would fault her for it.

Still, when she tried, there was no one alive who could doubt that she was a princess. The way she held herself, the way she could hold someone's gaze—it was astounding while it lasted.

It had been a long afternoon getting her there, however. Her anger was so profound, so all encompassing that Loki still wasn't convinced that she could pull off the night, no matter how many times he drilled into her proper Asgardian etiquette or the names of important courtiers or of how to act when in from to the people.

"One night at a time," He said, crossing to the door. The sun was beginning to set through Freya's windows. It was time. Loki turned back when she didn't follow. She was staring into the mirror, tugging at this and that. Finally she turned, taking a deep, slightly shaking breath.

"For my father," she whispered, so quietly he knew he wasn't supposed to hear. They stepped out into the hallway and set off towards the Great Hall, where the feast would kick off the evening.

Loki struggled for something to say as they approached the high table. He settled on the obvious. "You look—" he began, but she cut him off.

"Hideous," she said in a way that made him think she really believed it. She had begun pulling once more at her gown in discomfort. Loki reached out and stayed her hand without thinking.

She tensed, her eyes lost in something Loki couldn't see. He felt her hand go rigid under mine, perfectly still, like a statue. He could hear her breath stick in her throat, only for a moment until he hastily let go, his heart racing. Another vision perhaps? Of what he had now idea—

But after a moment Loki saw that it was a man taking his place at the high table. Freya's eyes flashed furiously.

"What is it?" he asked in barely more than a whisper. She ignored him and pulled her hand free. She set off again, purpose evident in her walk. Loki sighed, feeling a pit in his stomach growing as he tried to catch up with her.

Freya couldn't believe he was here. Her hands curled into fists, her jaw clenched and she stared up at him with such fury. She waited until she stood in front of him before speaking.

"Jokulf," she spat, bubbling over with ire. Suddenly all of Loki's words began tumbling out of her head, replaced instead with white hot rage at the man who sat before her, sandy haired and smiling.

He had been her father's most trusted advisor, had advised him to fight back, that a show of force would cause the Aesir forces to back off. He'd disappeared shortly after. Her family had mourned him, fearing he had been taken captive and killed. And yet here he sat, at a place of honor, smiling at her as if nothing was wrong in the world.

Freya could feel Loki catch up behind her, could feel his hand against her back as he tried, no doubt, to stop her from doing something stupid, to move her along to her seat without incident. She dug her heels in, rooting herself. She could hear Loki sigh behind her but ignored him.

"Princess! How lovely it is to see you, how long has it been?" Jokulf said serenely, taking a sip of his wine. He clearly thought he was untouchable here in Asgard's golden halls.

"Do not feign pleasantries with me Jokulf," Freya spat, her voice like ice.

"I know not what you speak of my Lady," he said, leaning back in his chair and smiling cruelly. She leaned forward, her voice lowering so that only he could hear.

"You will pay for your crimes against Vanaheim, whether it be this century or the next, I will make sure that you pay in the most hideous way possible. And I will laugh when I hear your death-screams. Remember that Jokulf. Not even the Allfather will be able to save you. You are living on borrowed time."

Freya straightened up, her posture still rigidly furious. She turned back to look at Loki and nodded. He could see the effort she took to rearrange her features so they appeared only impassive. Loki glanced at the man who had upset her, only to see that his face was full of fear. He raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn't comment.

They took their places at the table, Freya once more between Thor and he as was the custom. Thor turned to her and smiled. "How do you fair, Princess? It has been quite a while since anyone has seen you about. Baring today of course."

Loki tensed slightly as Freya's face slipped into one of confusion. She recovered quickly, though he knew Thor's words had puzzled her.

No one other than their mother knew the time Loki had been spending with Vanaheim's captured princess, and even she did not know the extent of their time spent together. Loki had taken to casting enchantments over them when we walked through the gardens or sat silently side by side in the library.

He told himself that he was doing it to protect her, but there was a part of him that doubted that was wholly true.

"There is no need for such formalities, Thor," Freya said, her voice suddenly filled with warmth. "I fair well this day, as I may yet usher my father into the fields of Folkvagnr. My thanks for your intervention this morning, for I fear without it I may not have had this chance."

Thor smiled wider but Loki found himself grinding his teeth. "You are more than welcome Lady Valfreya."

"You are most kind, your Grace."

"If I may, you truly look stunning tonight my Lady," Thor said, his eyes sparkling. Freya looked up at him, a coy smile playing around her lips.

"There it is, appeal to her vanity, Brother. It's practically in the name—Vanir," Loki said with distaste. He disliked her new attitude towards Thor. He sat back in his chair and grabbed his glass of wine. Freya looked at him sharply, and for a moment he thought she looked hurt, but her expression changed too fast for him to be certain.

"It is true that many have accused the Vanir of vanity, my Prince," she said, evenly, though her eyes lingered on Loki's as she uttered 'my Prince." The title felt foreign on his ears as she never addressed me more formally than by my first name.

"Though perhaps it is jealousy, I think," Freya continued, turning back to Thor. "Is it vain to possess fine things if one is able, or to dress to enhance one's natural charms?"

"I would think not," Thor said, laughing. The coy smile had reappeared on Freya's lips once more, though this time her eyes sparkled devilishly. She knew this behavior incensed him, and yet she blatantly continued. Loki took another long drink of wine.

"I would be loath to be thought of as vain though," Freya said. I looked up at her mildly. "Perhaps through Asgardian eyes I could be seen as so, but I would not like to upset my brother by taking yet another title from him. And this one he enjoys!"

Odin stood at the middle of the high table and those amassed in the great hall fell silent at once. Freya shifted uncomfortably next to me. Thor noticed and smiled at her reassuringly. Loki bit his cheek.

"Today we honor my brother Vè, taken from us far too soon. For years we have sought to avenge him in war and finally we have done so, proving that the might of Asgard cannot be matched by our enemies," Odin began, his voice thundering over the hall. "It is time for reparations to be made."

At that Freya's head shot up. Loki could feel a sense of foreboding rising in the pit of his stomach. He had thought reparations had already been taken from the Vanir.

"Princess Freya, First of her name, heir to the realm Vanaheim, and ward of Asgard, step forward."

There was nothing but the sound of Freya's shoes clicking against the stone floor. She held her head high and her face was impassive. When she came to face Odin she gave only the slightest incline of her head by way of bow.

The hall waited on bated breath. Loki could see the color in his father's cheeks, see his barely repressed rage. But he could also see the faces of those who sat below, who shifted uneasily in their seats, or stood transfixed by Freya's image as she stood, stock-still, impertinent—regal.

"I was not aware there was anything left to take from my dear Vanaheim," Freya said boldly. Loki sighed heavily. This was the exact opposite of what they had practiced—

A crack echoed through the hall, as loud as thunder. Odin hadn't moved, but Freya lay on the ground. She struggled to get up to her hands and knees, but a second crack rang out, this one louder, more intense. There were cries from the crowd as Freya weakly struggled to her knees.

Freya had no idea what she was playing at. Loki could only imagine how enraged his father had to be. Odin already reviled the girl, though why precisely, Loki was unsure. It had to do with something that had happen on Vanaheim, though he was loath to ask what.

She was trying to stand, Loki could see. The fool. She had no sense of self-preservation what so ever, only a blinding moral compass that was leading her straight into her grave. She stopped, only because she seemed unable to and settled into a kneeling position.

"I ask for my father's body, so that he may be buried," Freya said loudly from where she knelt. Odin snorted.

"These reparations are not for you—" Odin cried, losing his impassive mask. "I want to know what happened to my brother in Vanaheim, I want you to tell Asgard what your people did to him—"

A third crack echoed through the hall, this time leaving Freya nearly motionless. Loki darted out from his seat and charged forward to stand in front of her. He could see her stirring subtly from behind him, hear the sounds of outrage beginning to ring out from the crowd.

She looked so small, so powerless, lying on the floor in that red dress that looked like a stain of blood across the marble. Yet she still stirred, still refused to give in. She was infuriating.

"Enough Father!" Silence once more fell over the hall, heavy and full of bated breath. Odin stared at Loki, his ire for Freya falling onto his son. "Father, I believe you forget, we are no longer at war,"

His father surveyed him, his jaw set.

"Vé was my brother, lest you forget."

"And Njord, her father. Both sides suffered loss, Father. You only perpetuate ill will. She is just a girl, Father. She sees us all as monsters. We have taken away her father, her home, her brother. She expects nothing but cruelty at our hands. Let her see that we are not all monsters. That perhaps she can find happiness here, learn to love the Realm."

"You know not what you speak of my son. This girl you speak of killed our men, wiped out fleets of the Asgardians you let her walk among. Do not be fooled by her pretty face," Odin said, his voice rising. Loki stared back up at him, brows furrowed.

"This _girl,"_ Odin continued, rising to his full hight, anger painting his face ruddy, "this girl is The Necromancer you heard tell of, the Enchantress who nearly decimated our forces, and would have, had she not been captured."

Loki stared at Freya, his mind whirring. He knew magic ran through the Vanir strongest of all of the races. But could this frightened, beaten girl be the feared Enchantress? Uneasy muttering began to fill the hall as the people turned to one another, fear evident in the buzz of their voices.

And yet she did nothing. This powerful Enchantress his father condemned—she struggled to get to her feet. She fell as she tried, landing face down once more, her only movement the trembling of her shoulders. She was crying, Loki realized. He had never considered her doing something so vulnerable—so human.

Loki turned back up at his father. "She is the Princess of Vanaheim, honor bound to protect her home and her people. If she were to use her skills to do so, who could blame her? She was defending herself."

Odin glowered down at Loki, but the will of the room that had been firmly behind him just a few minutes before was shifting in favor of the girl lying on the marble steps. Loki was sure they were beginning to doubt whether she could indeed be as Odin had said.

Loki could hear a few behind him, wondering why she hadn't struck back, or indeed raised a hand to defend herself. He wondered that himself. Still, he spoke, the words tumbling from his tongue without leaving time for them to flit through his mind first.

"If I may, Father, she is a princess, and I believe she should be treated as such. If she is skilled in the art of sorcery as you say, Father, she could teach me the ways of the Vanir's magic. I would accept her as my responsibility."

Odin stared down at Loki for a moment, his eyes narrowed. Then he nodded.

"Fine. On your head, be it."

"Thank you Father," I said, my voice nearly impassive. Odin stared back, a strange look passing between us, one that I didn't fully comprehend.


	6. Unspoken

Loki stooped and helped Freya to her feet. The hall was still silent, eerily so. She leaned on his shoulder more heavily than he would have imagined. He looked at her face, concerned. It was mottled, blood on its fair surface. Her lip was split and a bruise was forming heavily along her cheekbone.

She knotted her fingers in the green of his cape as they began their trek to the far end of the hall where the doors lay.

Freya stumbled on one of the steps. Her knees buckled and she let out a soft, cry. Loki caught her before she hit the floor. This time he kept a strong grip on her. He could see Thor rise at the high table in order to help, no doubt, but he shook his head and Thor froze before slowly lowering himself back to his chair.

Freya's feet froze for a moment and she curled inward toward Loki, burying her face into his shoulder. Her hair tickled his nose. It smelled like lilac. Freya stood up again as titters of pity grew among the crowd.

She threw her shoulders back, released her hand from the back of my cape and took a step forward. He knew what she wanted immediately and let go of her, praying to Norns she wouldn't fall.

Her movement was slow, awkward, pained. But she kept moving forward, her head held high as when they had brought her bound in chains, as high as when she stepped into the training field. It was as if Loki could see the weight of Vanaheim pressing her into the ground, though still she bore it with a straight spine and a noble expression that precluded the vanity she had admitted before.

Loki closed the doors behind them when last they reached them, releasing her of her duty, whatever she saw it as in that head of hers. She struggled so far as to be out of sight of the guards that stood at either side of the Hall doors before falling against the wall and sliding down to the floor.

She began to cry—not in the dignified manner she'd been able to in the hall, but real quaking sobs that racked her chest and flared her cheeks with color. Loki sat down next to her, bringing his knees up to his chest.

"Stop it," Freya hissed, her head bowed. Magic crackled menacingly at her fingertips, powerful enough to make the hairs on the back of Loki's neck stand up. He stared at her, brows furrowed.

"Stop what?"

Uncontrolled magic shot from her hands, fast and deadly. It connected with the opposite wall in a deafening crash, reducing much of it to rubble. Several guards rushed to the scene, but Loki waved them away with a flick of his wrist.

"Stop treating me with kindness, stop helping me," she choked out, raising her eyes to his. "You're Aesir! You're worse than Aesir! You're a son of Odin!"

Her words burst from her lips with a cold bitterness that was nearly palpable. Loki stared, impassive, though her words fell like poison on his ears. Finally, he spoke, careful to control his voice. "Is that really what you think?"

She stared back at him, her face scrunched in sadness, bitterness, and uncertainty. "I— I don't know. You should hate me, as your father does. Surely— but instead, you release me, ask nothing but lessons, lessons in magic reviled by your people. So I wonder what it is that you want from me. You have my freedom, my family, my homeland— now you'll have my knowledge as well. What else can you take from me? What else could you want?"

Loki sat next to her as she cried, in silence, letting her lose herself in misery as he pondered her words. She was both entirely right and wrong at the same time. True, he was a son of Odin, Aesir by blood, but he was as much an outsider in their world as she. Loki could feel it, this difference, creating a valley between others and himself.

He had grown up his whole life on an island in the shadow of his older brother—but here was this girl cast down into the sand, a kindred spirit, yet a spirit who knew exactly where she belonged.

He very nearly envied her.

"I know what it's like to be alone," Loki said finally when she'd cried herself out. Freya looked up at him through red, puffy eyes. He turned away, getting to his feet. "Now c'mon. Crying won't help anything in the end."

He had learned that long ago.

Freya nodded—a tiny, almost imperceptible movement—before getting to her feet. Loki climbed the staircase without a glance over his shoulder to make sure that she followed.

She trailed behind him as if in a daze. She took no note of the passageways and stair through which he led her, instead focusing on what seemed to be the enormous task of putting one foot in front of the other. Before she knew it she found herself being sat down in a chair.

Freya was in another unfamiliar room, though this one was very much like the bedroom she had been deposited in. It was spacious, the furniture was large and ornate, carved of nearly black wood. Everything was covered in rich shades of emerald and gold. It was neat as a pin, stocked from floor to ceiling with hundreds of books. Moonlight filtered in, diffused by the green window hangings that were partially drawn.

She stared around, suddenly on edge. Freya pulled her knees up to her chin, let the fear settle into her throat.

Loki stood opposite, his back to her a gentle clinking sound resonating from where he worked. After a few moments he turned, carrying a small tray filled with little glass bottles. A green bowl sat steaming on one end, a cloth hanging over its edge. Loki sat the tray down on a small, spindly side table and pulled up a chair so he was facing her.

"Look up," he said, not unkindly. She obeyed and he dabbed the cloth against her split lip, removing the blood and grime. He folded the cloth, wiping away the rest of the grime from her face.

Loki deposited the cloth back into the water and picked up a small, blue-green jar. He unscrewed the top and dabbed a bit of the balm inside onto her lip. Her skin knitted up, almost instantly, leaving only a thin pink line.

"Put some of this on it twice a day and there will be no scaring," Loki said, pressing the jar into her palm.

Freya's vision clouded over, shifting to the black of the darkest winter night. Snow swirled around her in stinging flurries, propelled by the endless, screaming wind. Everything seemed to be bathed in the chaos of black, white and the blue of ice. Figures stood around her, their skin the same blue at the ice surrounding them. Only their eyes stood out, a bright, bloody red sunk deep into their heads. _Jotuns._

She was not afraid. She followed them as they crossed to a ruined temple, great pieces of the ceiling fallen in. It was sparsely illuminated inside, lit only by a few beams of moonlight.

Another figure stood before the throne, which was occupied by one of the largest of the Jotuns. She recognized him as Laufey, their king. The other figure appeared blurry, as if not fully formed. Freya heard his words, echoed back and refracted until it seemed they possessed every tone known to Vanir ears, making it nearly impossible to distinguish the true voice.

"This is a great day for Jotunheim. Asgard is finally ours."

"Freya? _Freya_!"

Loki was shaking her, his voice tinged with panic. Freya's eyes fluttered open. It took her a moment to focus on him. Her heart raced, her chest rose and fell as if she'd been running for hours. Loki's arms were pinned to either side of the chair, preventing her from falling over. His face was ashen, eyes wide.

"Freya, are you alright?" he said, feeling her forehead. "Your skin. It's like ice—"

"Of course it is," I muttered, eyes half closed. "I'm not dressed for winter."

Loki scooped her up, not trusting her to stay seated alone, and placed her on his four poster bed. He wrapped her in his heaviest blankets, in wool and furs. She sat, shivering, eyes far away, lost in the Temple of Jotunheim.

"Are you ill?" Loki asked, surveying her with worry.

"No," she said, her voice sounding faraway. "Just, somewhere that may yet pass."

"I don't follow."

"A vision."

"You saw the future?"

"A future. But chances are, yes."

Loki stared at her, eyes wider than before. "What did you see?"

"I saw Jotunheim." A slight smile twisted her lips upward. Loki looked appalled.

"Jotunheim? Are they planning an invasion?"

Jotuns were sworn enemies of Asgard. They had fought long before in the War of the Eternal Winters, but they had been defeated, their casket taken from them. It now lay somewhere under her feet in the vaults of Asgard.

The Vanir had been sympathetic to the Jotun defeat, thought they had not aided them in the war. Freya's father could not allow the Jotuns to freeze Midgard, though he did not see it as his place to stop them. She had visited Jotunheim once, when she was younger. It was from this visit that she recognized Laufey. He was a domineering presence- ruthless and war-worn.

It had not been an unpleasant visit, however. She had found Jotunheim, though desolate, to hold its own sort of mystic beauty. It was a sentiment shared by neither her father or brother.

For this reason, Freya chose to tell Loki pieces, if not the whole truth. "I saw their temple. It lay in ruins, still, after all these years. Laufey still sat upon the throne. Jotuns gathered outside."

"And?"

"Nothing."

"What do you mean nothing?" Loki asked, his brows furrowed. "What did Laufey say? Does he threaten war?"

"Visions are not like books, open for perusal," she said to him. This was fully true. They were never easy to decipher. Parts always seemed to be missing, those pieces of the puzzle which still had choices to make in order to lead them there.

Still, they were nearly always true, though not always interpreted correctly. It took sedir to change one's destiny, and even then, often the decisions made by those who underwent sedir would still find themselves at the same place, if only a little later. Destiny was cruel that way.

"It is not uncommon for the Jotun to gather by the temple. Perhaps it was a holiday," Freya supplied. The little bottle was warm in her hand. It caused a slight bubble of guilt to rise in her.

"What do you know of the Jotuns?" Loki asked derisively. "Those foul monsters of winter?"

"I have been to Jotunheim. I have eaten in their halls, drunk with them and made merry. You cannot believe crib-tales forever, my Prince."

Loki stared at her oddly, as he had in the Great Hall.

"Why would you have a vision of these monst- these _Jotuns_, if there were no significance?" Loki asked, one eyebrow raised.

"I do not know," Freya replied simply.

Loki stared at her a moment, his eyes slightly narrowed before getting up. She was nearly positive he knew that she wasn't telling him the full truth. "I will show you to your chambers."

Loki led her from his chambers, back into the hall. She followed wordlessly, her mind still realms away. He stopped at a nearly identical door to his own, just twenty paces from his own apartments. He pushed open the door, ushering her inside.

Freya hadn't realized their apartments had been so close. She should have, she now realized. How else would he have been able to save her from hurtling to her death that day on the balcony? His own must have been the one mere feet from hers, not more than an arm's length away.

He pushed open the door and ushered her inside. Loki snapped at the empty fireplace of grey stone and a roaring fire erupted, throwing off vast amounts of heat. He pulled out a chair by the fire for her to sit at. She gratefully obliged. She still shook, though from her vision or Odin's treatment the past few days she didn't believe either of them knew.

"I'll have the kitchens send something up for you tonight," he said, slipping once more into the formal nature he had possessed earlier. "And I'll have an allowance secured for you tomorrow for whatever you may require in Asgard."

He crossed to the door, his face a mask. "I'll come to collect you tomorrow morning, an hour after sun rise, so make sure that you're puncture. I revile being late."

Without another word he pulled open the door and left, letting it click shut. Freya's mouth was half open in a murmured thank you. She closed it before the words passed over her lips.


	7. Understanding

Freya was awoken by three sharp knocks on her door. _Loki. _

She sighed, taking another second to stare at the violet hangings above her before throwing off her covers. The sun had already risen over the mountains that surrounded the outskirts of Asgard's capital city, streaking the sky with scarlet and orange.

Loki knocked once more as she sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"Give me a moment!" she called sharply, irritation burning in the pit of her stomach. Every inch of her ached from where she had been struck by Odin's magic, but none more than her pride. Still, she tried to convince herself, it was all part of a much larger game, as Loki had expertly pointed out, and that she was in it for the long haul, no matter her feelings.

She dressed quickly, without looking at what she threw on and crossed to the door to let Loki in. He looked well rested, handsomely elegant and distant—his usual self by all appearances, though Freya could tell that something was off. Last night had changed something, changed everything, though how exactly, she wasn't yet sure.

Loki could be her protector, her friend or just another jailer. She still had no way of knowing his intentions. She felt as if she knew him, though how well could she, really? She had only been there a month and Loki—Loki was known for his trickery. And yet she still felt that they shared…_something._

Loki stared at her with mild contempt. "You do realize that you're wearing that dress backwards. It's also hideous, but that's another matter entirely."

Freya looked down. Sure enough he was right. It was an awful chartreuse color patterned with yellow and ochre. Though she was entirely sure that it would look just as bad if she wore it facing the front.

Loki crossed into the room without another word and strode to the wardrobe. To Freya's surprise he began rummaging through it, tossing dresses haphazardly across the room. She crossed next to him, her brows furrowing. She couldn't care less what she wore, or which way it faced. It wouldn't make any difference.

"You're wrong, you know," Loki said, seeming to read her mind. "It does matter what people think of you. It matters more than you realize."

He held up a dark blue dress next to me, squinted, and then threw it aside. "What you did last night—that was stupid, and unbelievably reckless," Loki said, glaring at Freya overtop another dress. She stared at her feet, waiting for his anger to burst from him. She was sure to hear it this time, now that he was saddled with her.

"But—but it seems to have worked out in your favor. No one liked seeing a poor, defenseless, girl blatantly tortured in front of their eyes. No one could believe that that hopeless little wretch could be the Necromancer, not when she wouldn't even lift a finger to defend herself." Loki stared at her, eyes narrowed, surveying her shrewdly. "Nicely done."

Freya looked up, surprised. She'd rarely heard Loki praise anyone, and never for disobeying him. The twinge of guilt in her stomach from lying to him the night before reappeared.

"Now you've just got to keep it up," he continued, turning back to the wardrobe.

"What do you mean?" Freya asked, startled.

"I mean that you've got everyone fooled. Everyone thinks that you're just this vulnerable stolen princess, that you're just a harmless stolen beauty. So that's what you're going to pretend to be."

"What?" she said, feeling a flash of anger color her cheeks. "No, _no_. I'm not going to spend my life _groveling_—"

Loki's temper flared. "Freya, don't you understand?"

"What is there to understand?" she spat, eyes flashing. "You want me to be a painted doll. well you can forget—"

"There is a great difference between pretending and _being_ Freya. All I am trying to do is help you to make your life easier—better. If you'd just trust me—" he broke off and turned award, his anger showing through the rigidity of his shoulders.

Her anger deflated in that moment. She couldn't quite explain it. It wasn't that she trusted him exactly, she just understood his anger. She realized how hard he had been trying to protect her, to make things easier on her—how hard she had been making that for him.

Freya sat down quietly on the bed, her head dropping into her hands. Of course it would be easier being the vapid, dull princess. Hadn't she already seen that before, when talking to his slack-jawed brother the night before? Surely it would be easier just to become what everyone expected.

Loki turned to face her, eyes still flashing with anger. His anger subsided, however, when he saw Freya's resigned expression. Or perhaps it was one of defeat.

"I'm just—"

"You're trying to help. I know," she said quietly, staring at the ground.

"We're going to be together for a long time. We might as well let it be as pain free as possible."

"You mean your father's plan to marry me to you." Freya's voice was measured. She tried to keep the bitterness from it, for his sake. He wasn't a bad man, he didn't deserve to be hurt by her for something that was out of his control too.

She looked up when the silence stretched, fearing that she had offended him. He was staring out the window, his eyes not really focused on the scene outside, but lost, somewhere further away.

"I don't get a choice either you know. I'm not—I didn't ask for things to be this way."

"I know, I didn't mean—"

"It's not that I don't think that you're—I mean, I do. I just—I just think that we can make it work. We can be friends. I'd like us to be friends."

Freya stared at him intently, watched the color creep into his cheeks. It looked odd, out of place in his face, as though his skin wasn't accustomed to the color. She reached out instinctually and took his hand. She didn't know why, she just felt her heart breaking for him in that moment. It made her realized that perhaps she wasn't the only one who was lost.

Her hand was warm against mine, though not unpleasantly. She stared at me with an expression he could not decipher. His first instinct was to pull away but he stopped himself. The room was no less heavy, filled as it was with the talk of forced marriages, but it suddenly seemed more bearable.

Loki looked down. His chest felt tight. He gave her hand a small, reassuring squeeze. Then he turned, letting her hand fall from his.

Loki's hand felt empty after that.

He continued routing through the dresses that had been sent up to her. Every one of them just seemed like yet another cage to be wrapped around her as they were such strikingly traditional Asgardian designs. Finally he found a simple dress, the color of ice that seemed the farthest from the others.

"This one's better," he said, handing it to her. He paused, adding, "This way is the front."

She snorted and took it from him before turning her back. Loki hesitated a moment before crossing to the other room to give her some privacy.

It was amazing how different everything could become in a single day. How fast lines could be drawn. He had had his doubts on whether or not Freya would be able to do this, to play the game—now Loki was certain that she could, as long as she was able to control her temper. He had seen so last night, seem the restraint through her rashness. He knew that she had magic, knew that she was powerfully equipped to defend herself. There was no other explanation for her holding back, for her to take all of that pain lying down.

Loki gritted his teeth as he pictured her lying on the marble once more, bloody and racked with pain. Whatever his father thought of him, his mother supported him, supported his treatment of Freya. That had to mean something.

Freya appeared, breaking his train of thought. The dress he had picked clung to her skin like beads of water, softly, fluidly. She looked so much more comfortable in it than in any of the other heavily structured ones. She looked lighter. Freer.

She didn't look at him, instead concentrating on her shoes. It was a moment before he spoke again. "Today I have a training session this morning."

She nodded without saying another word and followed him in silence through the corridors and out into the training field. Thor and the Warriors Three were already warming up, their weapons flashing dangerously in the sunlight. They were still early enough that their instructor had not yet arrived.

Loki crossed to the training house and stopped, gesturing to the opposite side door. "You can get changed in there," he told Freya. "There should be training clothes and spare armor for you to use in there."

"I didn't know that I would be training with you," Freya said, her brows furrowing. Her voice dropped in volume. "I thought that you didn't want me to appear dangerous."

"That is no reason for you not to train."

She nodded and crossed deliberately to the door to the female changing rooms. Loki watched her go, his head still as clouded as it had been since the night before.

He was brought back to reality when someone careened into him. It was Sif. Her golden hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her face sour.

"So where's your new pet?" she asked derisively. Sif and Loki had never gotten on, though she seemed much more combative towards him than normal. He ground his teeth in annoyance.

"It's so nice to see you Lady Sif," he lied. The smile came easily, and all the more so when it deepened her scowl.

"Are you still pretending to care for that silver-haired wretch? Or did the act end last night? It was very convincing, I must say."

"For a pretty girl you do say the most awful things."

Sif ignored him. "It's all very entertaining, this show that you two put on. Though I don't think the _prisoner _is clever enough to figure out that she's just your pawn. I think she believes you _care,"_ Sif laughed cruelly. "Wait until she learns the true nature of the Lie Smith."

Loki grit his teeth but said nothing. Sif flipped back her hair and smirked at him. He narrowed his eyes before crossing to the other changing room to don his armor.

Sif was already pacing the battle field by the time that he emerged. Loki paused for a moment, looking for Freya, but she was nowhere to be seen.


	8. Training

A few pairs of training clothes lay on a table. Freya quickly picked a pair that looked as if they would fit. She pulled on the grey pants which fitted tightly to her legs and pulled on a pair of tall boots overtop before pulling on the shirt, which flowed loosely around her. Not something she would have chosen.

Freya looked around and spotted a chest plate lying on one of the many benches in the room. She picked it up, about to fit it over her shirt when another woman entered, scowling. "Put that down."

She was tall, as I was, though much more athletically built. Her long golden hair was pulled into a high ponytail and secured with a leather cord. _Sif._ She was nearly fully dressed in armor- not the training clothes Freya wore. Freya realized how silly she must look.

"That is not yours, _Princess_. You are no longer in Vanaheim. Go embroider something. Learn your place. If you think you're special because Loki has taken a liking to you, you are sadly mistaken," she said, tugging the chest plate from my grasp. "It simply means that you are a useful pawn in one of his schemes. You mean nothing to him."

Freya felt as if she had been slapped. She had only just met this girl a few days prior and yet the girl seemed to hate her so thoroughly. Sif turned, nose in the air, and left, letting the door slam behind her.

Freya took a deep breath, letting her shoulders slump. She missed Vanaheim more in that moment than ever. She had once enjoyed training nearly more than any of her other studies. It seemed those days too were over.

She had already known that Sif disliked her. It wasn't as if she hadn't made it a secret. Still, Sif's biting words cut her, more than she'd ever like to admit, even to herself. She didn't need to be reminded once more where her place was in Asgard.

Most of all, her assessment of Loki's feelings stung the worst. Perhaps because they were Freya's own fears. If she wasn't so afraid of being entirely alone, would her heart still ache at Sif's words? Was that a sign of her own weakness?

Freya leaned back against the wall and wrapped her arms around her knees. She didn't trust herself to go outside and keep up the façade. She knew that the moment she stepped outside, her pride would take over, ruining any chance of holding onto the poor lost princess Loki wanted her to be. Needed her to be. She owed him that, she supposed.

She nearly laughed at the thought. A year ago, if anyone had told her that she owed something to an Aesir, never mind to their prince, she would have laughed and called their jest. Yet here she sat, in retreat, so as not to disappoint him.

Freya looked up as she heard the gentle squeak of the door, bracing heerself for another barrage of Sif's sharp remarks.

But it was Loki, wearing gleaming golden armor who stood in the doorway. A golden horned helm was clutched under his arm. He hesitated there, letting the door click shut behind him.

"Freya," he asked tentatively, "Are you okay? Did Sif do something to offend you?"

"It was nothing, my prince," Freya said softly. Loki crossed to the bench and sat next to her without a word. She turned to him, surprised, before focusing her gaze once more on her feet. "You do not have to waste your time sitting here with me, I will be fine here while you train."

"Will you not finish dressing and join me? I was looking forward to training with someone who presented a challenge."

Freya looked up at Loki, her brows furrowed, trying to discern if he was serious. After a moment she nodded and stood.

"What of the rest of your armor?"

"There is none available."

"I shall find you some—"

"I will go without. It shall offer more motivation," she said stoically. In truth she did not want to be any more of a burden to him. Loki stared at her for a moment before nodding and leading the way out onto the field. The same drum of battered and blunted practice swords lay at its entrance. She began to root through but paused when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

Loki wordlessly took a sword from his belt. It was gold and shorter than the one that she was used to wielding, but it was well balanced and of fine craftsmanship. Freya took it with a murmured thanks before following him to his part of the field.

Thor turned to her as she approached, easily deflecting a blow from Fandral with a block of his war hammer. He smiled as he eyed the sword in her hands before turning to Loki. "Finally there is some use to be had from that sword, eh, brother?"

Thor's grin faded slightly as he surveyed Freya in her training clothes. "Princess, surely you need to wear armor in order to train. We do not use blunted weapons in the ring at this level. Surely you were unaware—"

"I thank you for your concern, your highness, but I am fine as I am."

"Princess, would you take mine? Perhaps it would be large on your slender frame, but I would hate to see your beauty marred in any way. What a crime that would be," Fandral said, sweeping into a low bow.

"I shall be fine, I assure you," Freya said, inclining her head towards him. Loki had grown impatient. She could tell from the set of his shoulders. She guessed that Fandral's attention bothered him in some way, though she was not sure why.

She stepped away and began following Loki to the far end of the field. He hefted his helm onto his head. Freya smiled behind him as he did so. His features were well suited to the helm. He turned before she could wipe the expression from her face.

"What is it?" he asked, a defensive edge to his voice.

Freyadecided on honesty. "I was admiring your helm, it is well suited to you."

The corner of his mouth twisted upward, only slightly, and only for a moment. Then his hand went to his belt.

There was one thing to be said for her lack of armor—she was able to move much faster. By the time Loki's dagger set loose she was far gone. They continued their dance, Loki throwing with deadly precision, Freya dodging, though it became slightly more difficult when Loki began anticipating where she would move.

In many ways they were ill suited to fight one another. Loki preferred fighting at a distance whereas Freya had always favored close combat. Thus they simply kept a distance between one another until they were stopped by the Swordmaster.

"This is doing nothing to improve your skills. You each favor much different styles," he said, shaking his head. "However, I am intrigued. I know that you both possess magic—discard your weapons and let us see if that will yield a more interesting fight."

Loki nodded and handed the Swordmaster his belt of remaining knifes while Freya handed him her borrowed sword.

She braced herself. She had no idea what to expect. Freya had never really seen the extent of Loki's magical abilities, nor did she know how far she should go. Loki seemed to sense her hesitation. He advanced on her, smiling in a sort of devilish joy and then suddenly she was surrounded by thirteen of him, all smirking, all advancing.

Freya felt her heart race as her mind tried to keep pace and figure out what to do. This was a balancing act, as everything else was, she was sure. The others had stopped their sparring to watch them, heightening her anxiety. She waited until the last possible second, when Loki was barely more than an arm's length away before calling forth a near invisible wall of magic to shield herself.

The force of the shield knocked Loki backwards, causing his doubles to flicker out. Loki paused, crouched, to survey her, his mouth twisted into a wicked grin.

"So _that's_ how it's going to be?" he asked, his eyes glinting in a challenge. He darted forward, swinging his arms in a wide arc, causing the sand around her feet to fly upward, wrapping her into a vortex.

Freya leapt upward, using the massive cloud for cover and soared behind Loki, landing lightly. In the moment before he realized where she had gone she shot an energy bolt at him, knocking him from his feet. He looked displeased.

A second later, he was face to face with her, his hand at her throat. He moved so quickly that it was hard for her to believe—

She swept his foot out from under him, knocking him off balance. As they both fell forward she brought her elbow upward to pin against his throat when they hit the ground.

However, Loki disappeared a second before making contact with the dirt, leaving Freya to land heavily on one elbow as the real Loki's feet appeared at the edge of her vision. She swung her legs around in order to topple him, but misjudged slightly, leaving herself with too much momentum.

Loki took this opportunity to lunge at Freya, his fingers latching onto her upper arm. She knew that, given a moment, he would arrive victorious. She knew that given her mastery of her magical gifts he needn't ever get that moment, but she hesitated. Surely, it was better still to mask the powers she had yet shown.

Freya waited for Loki to set her in a pin, struggling just enough for it to look as though she was really without the power to stop him. She let sparks fly from my fingertips, a cold wind howl for a moment before she resigned defeat.

Loki stared at her for a moment, eyes narrowed, before he got to his feet and offered her a hand, which she took.

The Swordmaster nodded and dismissed them without a second look. She wasn't sure if that was meant to be good or bad. The others watched with mild interest as they strode back to the gate.

"The Lie Smith and his Shadow," Sif sneered, eyes narrowed.

"That is unkind," Thor rebuked, his brows furrowing. He did not seem to like Sif's tone.

"But not untrue," Sif shot back. "Or perhaps dog is more appropriate that shadow. Only a dog returns after it has been kicked."

Freya could feel magic spring dangerously to her fingertips in her rage. She would have no problem leaving Sif a twitching heap in the dirt, but instead she took a deep breath, trying to steady her emotions. Trying to contain the magic that was welling up inside of her.

Fandral must have thought that Sif had rendered Freya close to tears, for he admonished her harshly. "What sort of thing is that to say, Sif? She has done you no wrong and yet you meet her only with insult?"

"She is not—" Sif began but Thor cut her off.

"She have done you no wrongs Sif. At the very least, leave her be."

Thor smiled reassuringly at Freya. She returned his smile hesitantly. Loki stalked off to the changing rooms without another word. Freya lingered a moment longer before following suit. She found the eyes that followed her slightly disconcerting, as they weren't filled with ire (apart from Sif) or like those that had followed me as she sat in court in Vanaheim. There was something else to them, an almost hungry edge to them that she didn't quite understand.

Loki met her at the changing room door. His expression was hard to discern, though Freya had a feeling that he was annoyed, no doubt with her. They walked in silence back towards the castle. Her head hung. Shame burned in her stomach. She had caused Loki excess grief once more, without even meaning to this time.

Loki stopped abruptly underneath one of the willows that lined the gardens. She ran into him, absorbed as she was with her surveying of the ground. He reached out a hand to steady her, his face still an undecipherable mask.

Finally he spoke, sending her stomach plummeting. "You were holding back today."

Freya's eyes shot up to his. This was not at all what she expected him to say. Her mouth fell slightly open. She had hoped that she had been convincing enough that he hadn't noticed.

She nodded finally. Loki stared at her, eyes slightly narrowed. "You know that that will help neither of us to improve."

Freya nodded once more, unsure of what to say. Loki continued. "Though perhaps it was wise not to engage fully in front of the others. Your restraint in front of Sif was admirable."

Loki smiled faintly at her slightly furrowed brows. "Yes, I did happen to notice. Did you think that I would not?"

Freya remained silent. She wasn't sure what she should say. Loki seemed to sense this. "I believe it would be a good idea for us to hold separate sessions for honing our magical abilities. I know of a place where we won't be disturbed. Where you won't have to hold back."

"If that is what you wish," she said stiffly.

"This training would be just the two of us. There will be no need for the façade. They will exist outside of the game," Loki said, guessing, as he was so often prone to do, just what I was thinking. "What do you say? I for one wouldn't mind at all if you showed me how to harness those energy bolts."

Freya smiled for the first time that day, sincerely. If she were honest there was nothing that sounded better than spending some time away from the castle politics practicing magic that was loathed within its walls. It sang of rebellion.


	9. Lessons

Freya followed Loki with re-found vigor. It seemed as though the prospect of wielding magic away from the prying eyes of those who could not made up for Sif's cruel words, for throwing the fight. Oddly enough he had expected her to be angrier about it all, but perhaps she was getting better at playing the game.

Or perhaps she was just becoming used to it. Loki sighed heavily at the thought. He hated to think that anyone could begin to feel accustomed to cruelty at the hands of others.

"Perhaps you could show me how you managed to duplicate yourself so? I've never seen anything like it," Freya asked, drawing him out of his reverie.

"If you desire it, we may speak of magic until we are both quite fed up with the subject," he said lightly as we walked. Freya gave him another small smile.

"I fear that you may have to clear your schedule for the next few centuries or so," Freya replied, which only made him smile in turn. Loki turned to her as he heard the faint sound of her stomach rumble. He had forgotten that she had awoken late and missed breakfast. "Though perhaps after a meal."

She made no objection as he changed their course and instead made for the kitchens. He led them to the kitchens, where they pillaged roasted meat pies and candied fruits. Loki tied them all into a kerchief while the cook wandered off to investigate the commotion he'd caused by releasing two of the feral cats she kept in the back, to serve as a distraction. The cats hissed and clawed at one another, banging over pans and kettles from the counters.

"To hell with ya, the pair of ya, yammering away like the grumpkins ya are!" The cook cried, waving a wooden spoon at them. "Ya'd better be praying I don't turn ya to soup and wear yar hides as a fancy collar!"

Freya giggled as she peaked out over the counter.

"What do you think you're doing?" Loki hissed, double knotting the kerchief. His back was pressed against the side of the counter, his ears listening hard for the sound of the cook's return.

"I'm getting a better look at your mad cook," Freya said, matter of fact-ly. Loki tugged her back down to where she couldn't be seen. The last thing that he wanted to deal with right now was a barrage of "Your highnesses."

"You're going to get us caught," he said, though a smile twisted up the corners of his mouth. She gave him a look, raising an eyebrow.

"You're the prince and I am your responsibility," she said primly, poking her head back over the wooden countertop. Loki snorted. This was a new side of Freya. He noted in surprise that this was perhaps what her natural state was closer to. Regardless, he was happy to see her so.

"Fine then, if that's how you want it," he said and pulled her from the kitchen bodily, my hand wrapped firmly around her forearm. She laughed. He was strong- much stronger than he looked, but he used hardly any force on her at all. She didn't fight him, just gave him a mock sardonic look.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Loki said when we had run several corridors away. He shook my head.

"You've mentioned that," she replied, a smile still curving her lips. He wasn't used to seeing it there, even if it did little to quell the sadness in her eyes.

He untied their loot as they climbed the stairs and handed Freya a meat pie. She bit into it and pulled a face. "What is that?

Loki's brows furrowed. "Pheasant pie."

"It's disgusting," Freya said, handing it back to him.

"There's nothing wrong with it!" he said, taking a large bite. Freya looked on, unimpressed. "See? Nothi—"

Loki choked, his hands flying up to his throat. Freya raised an eyebrow. "Har-har, very funny."

His mouth worked like a guppy's. He dropped to his knees, still gasping for air. He dropped the kerchief and the pie onto the ground. Freya fell to her knees too, realizing the urgency of the matter. She shook him, hoping to dislodge the piece of food.

"Oh no! Oh no, what do I do? Help! Help!" she cried. Loki nearly felt bad.

A live pheasant flew from his mouth, right at Freya. She fell over, screaming. Loki fell over laughing.

"That's not funny!" Freya shouted as several guards came running. They converged on her as she kicked the offending pie at the wall. A second pheasant flew from the pie, squawking madly.

"Everything is fine," Loki said to the guards, holding up a hand lazily. He nodded and waved them away, still chuckling. He turned to Freya, grinning. "Tell me that was not amusing."

"Next time I'll let you choke and then you can tell me how amusing it is," Freya replied.

"Take a jest Freya," he said, hopping up and brushing off his clothes. She glared at him.

"Your Asgardian cuisine is beyond wanting," she said finally. Loki took this as being forgiven.

"Well then we'll have to find something to your liking. In the meantime, we have a lesson."

"Back to the library then?"

"Not for this. Somewhere safe."

Freya raised an eyebrow but stayed silent. She wondered what magic Loki was learning that required safety. Perhaps sedir, which left the castor nearly entirely vulnerable. She reviled the feeling.

Loki led them through the maze of the castle. They climbed staircase after staircase, wound through stone passageways and once, through a hidden corridor behind a tapestry. Finally, they stopped at a staircase leading to the top of one of the castle's many spires.

"This is how princesses get locked in towers," Freya said, mildly dubious. Loki laughed. They climbed for a few minutes in silence until they reached a spacious, open room.

It was entirely round and covered in bookcases. All of the furniture that lined the walls was curved, so it fit snuggly against the cool stone. An emerald couch lay in the middle of the room, facing the fireplace. It was laden with soft pillows and heavy blankets. Loki snapped his fingers at the empty hearth, causing crackling flames to erupt from within.

Loki crossed to one of the bookshelves and pulled an old heavy tome from the top shelf. He held it gingerly, as if it were a baby bird. It was bound in green linen and over the cover were worked golden runes.

"I bought it from a Vanir bookseller. It's a guide detailing the magic of the Vanir, but I haven't been able to learn anything form it. It's rather ambiguous."

Freya looked at him as if he had three heads. "You can't learn magic from a book."

Loki stared back at her, his brows furrowing. "That's how I learned."

"Then the magic of the Vanir and the magic of the Aesir must be truly different."

"Then how did you learn?"

"I didn't." Loki stared at her, perplexed. Freya took a deep breath and closed her eyes, thinking hard before continuing. "I was born with magic. It just came to me, as it does to all Vanir magic wielders. The difficult bit was learning how to control the magic and manipulate it into doing what I wished."

"Then how are you expecting to teach me?" Loki asked, brows still furrowed. She sat down on the cold stone of the floor, her eyes still tightly closed, her mind still whirring. Loki mirrored her, watching intently. Freya peeked out of one eye, confused as to why he followed her, but quickly shut it and pretended that everything was going to plan.

Suddenly a memory flashed before her eyes. An idea sprang to her mind.

"Get angry."

"Pardon."

"Get really, really angry. I once tore a hole through Freyr's bedchamber wall when he upset me."

"What did he do?" Loki asked, his interest piqued.

"He locked me in his cupboard, after he filled it full of—" Freya stopped, her eyes narrowing as she remembered the pheasants. She didn't fancy waking up in a room filled to the brim with bats.

Loki stared at her dubiously before closing his eyes. Freya watched, brows furrowed, hoping it would work. Loki concentrated, his face becoming pinched.

It seemed to wait a long time, but just when she thought that nothing was happening, she was hurled back in a flash of blue light. Freya landed crumpled by the shelves. Loki looked up, seemingly as shocked as she was that it worked.

Freya lay for a moment without moving, allowing herself to catch her breath. She was sure that she would be gifted with several fresh bruises in the morning for her teaching efforts. Still, she was pleased that her instructions had yielded results, especially as she had been grasping at straws while delivering them.

"Points for style," she said as I got up. Loki was crouched, frozen, his face scrunched into that of confusion.

"Why did it appear blue?" Loki asked, staring at his hand.

Freya's mind snapped back to her previous vision, to that of Jotunheim, of the Frost Giants gathered around Laufey's temple Of swirling blue winter and a voice saying "Asgard is finally _ours."_

"I don't know," she said quickly, shaking her head. She had no idea what the vision truly meant, though twice she had found it in the forfront of her mind while in Loki's presence. Perhaps there was some connection to him. Freya wondered what sort of connection a son of Odin had to Jotunheim. "Perhaps the answer's in one of your books."


	10. Nightmare

_"__Don't Father!" Freya cried, throwing herself forward against the chains held tight by her Asgardian captors. "I'd gladly die a thousand times if it meant Vanaheim would be free!"_

_"__No!" Njord screamed, his eyes widening in horror as one of the guards handed Odin a torch. "Valfreya!"_

Freya awoke in a cold sweat, my heart fighting to be free of the confines of my ribs. She could still see her father's head being cut from his shoulders, the blood that poured from his neck.

She clambered out of bed, trying to calm herself. She could feel the trembling taking over, the vice begin to tighten around her chest. Soon panic would leave her fighting for breath, she knew. She crossed unsteadily to the glass doors which led to the balcony and threw them open, thinking that perhaps some fresh air would do her good.

The night was warm and tranquil, the stars casting soft light down on the golden city. Still, it did nothing to quell her racing heart. Freya turned to go back inside and resign herself to the flashbacks, but paused when she noticed the gentle flickering of candle light glowing from Loki's room.

She acted without thinking. Freya clambered up onto the railing of her balcony, arms wide for balance. The marble was cold under her bare feet and her nightgown rippled in the breeze. She took a deep breath and then leapt across the nothingness that separated their balconies.

Freya landed, light footed on the other side, her heart hammering all the more. She wondered if perhaps this was a foolish idea, if she should go back and pretend that she had never leapt across seeking Loki's company. But she simply couldn't be alone at this moment. She could feel her terror rising each second she hesitated.

So instead she stepped closer to the glass door and placed her hand on the doorknob. She paused when she looked inside.

Loki was stretched out on a long emerald couch that lay near his bed, utterly absorbed in a thick, black-bound volume. He wore simple, elegant clothes—they must have been reserved for his casual use as she had never seen him in anything less than princely attire. His face was open, unmasked, she realized. Freya watched him as he read in complete tranquility, unaware that her heart had slowed slightly.

Finally Loki looked up. Surprise flashed across his face as he caught sight of Freya outside his doors. She jumped, realizing that she had lost track of how long she had been standing there. Loki crossed to the doors, his finger marking the place he had left off in his book. He threw them open, still looking puzzled.

"What is it Freya?"

She hesitated, a deep flush creeping into her cheeks. "I—I had a nightmare and I saw that your light was on and…" she trailed, off, realizing how stupid and childish she sounded. Freya turned, murmuring apologies, but Loki's hand shot out and caught her shoulder.

"Don't," he said softly. Freya stared at him, swallowing hard. "There's nothing to be ashamed of."

She stood frozen, staring up at him. He moved forward wordlessly and took her hand. Freya's fingers curled around his without her volition.

Loki pulled her gently inside as she clutched his hand. She was shaking, the color still not completely faded from her cheeks. He wondered what sort of horror her nightmares kept in store for her.

Her green eyes shone with tears that she was no doubt holding back. She looked so frightened, almost small. He led her to the couch where he had been lying and sat back down. She sat next to him timidly, still clutching his hand as though it were a life preserver.

"I am going to need that to turn the pages," Loki said lightly. Freya jumped slightly and quickly released his hand, the color creeping back into her cheeks. He smiled slightly. The admittance of fear seemed to leave her utterly mortified. He knew that he shouldn't, but Loki found it rather endearing.

He put his arm around Freya and reopened his book. She trembled underneath his arm, every muscle pulled taught, her shoulders set rigidly solid in her fear.

Loki tightened his grip, more out of protective instinct than in order to grasp the book more comfortably. He glanced sidelong at Freya, watching the rapid pace at which her chest rose and fell. He felt a sense of worry begin to grow.

Loki looked away, back at the book in his hands. Freya didn't seem to want to talk about whatever terrors had woken her from her sleep and he thought it to be cruel to ask her. So he merely began reading out loud, hoping that perhaps she would find comfort in the words as he had.

As he read he felt Freya slowly stop trembling and her muscles begin to relax. After a while she nestled her head against his chest, letting her body press into mine as he read. Loki could smell the sweet scent of lily on her silvery hair and found himself inhaling the scent deeply.

After some time passed he realized that she had fallen asleep curled against him. Her face looked so peaceful. He smiled and closed hi book gently and set it aside. He carefully picked her up and carried her to the bed, wary not to wake her. He tucked her underneath the blankets, something unfamiliar stirring in his chest as he stared at her.

He pulled several folded blankets from the end of the bed with the intention of quietly creeping over to the sofa to sleep, but as he stepped away she began to murmur in her sleep. Loki turned back to her. Freya's face was scrunched, troubled, her brows pulled together.

"_Blood," _she whispered. He crept closer, listening. "_It begins in blood, the blood of the orphan's Odin has made."_

Loki felt himself freeze. This didn't seem to be an ordinary nightmare. It seemed more likely to be another of her visions. "_Do the crowns wear the kings, or the kings the crowns?"_

_"__Where will the winter-skinned man go, when he learns that he has not been born of Gold? When his reflection is foreign to the eyes he's kept all his life? Will he be a monster then? Or hold the makings of a king?"_

Loki was completely frozen, his mind racing at an extraordinary pace. It was like a riddle to be solved. Perhaps that was what she meant, when she said that her visions weren't open and shut—easily read and deciphered.

Freya cried out, her face distraught. She thrashed in her sleep, fighting off some invisible demon. _"Where have you been…? Not even Heimdal could see you, with all his gifts. I searched for you, slipped between worlds as you had shown me, yet you were nowhere."_

Loki reached out and began stroking her hair, trying to sooth her. She quieted after a few moments, though her face still remained troubled. He stepped away to finally settle himself on the couch, but Freya reached out, her hand closing around his wrist.

He turned. She was still asleep or at least he supposed she was. "_Please—"_ she begged in the same far off voice. "_Don't leave me again."_

Loki sat next to her on the bed and pulled the blankets around himself. She calmed after a few moments, her face relaxing once more. By the time that he drifted off she was curled up next to him, lost in dreamless sleep.


	11. Tricks

Freya awoke disoriented. It was a moment before she realized that she was still in Loki's room—tucked into his bed. She felt a flush creeping into her cheeks. She must have fallen asleep while he read to her.

Loki must think her mad—mad and pathetic. It was a mistake to leap across the balcony. How would she look at him after presuming so much?

She glanced around as she sat up, pulling the blankets tightly around her. Loki was nowhere to be seen. Freya gingerly climbed out of bed and looked around. Just as before, Loki's room was neat as a pin. Not a book lay out of place on the shelves, nor even the blankets at the end of the bed unfolded. On the couch where she lasted remembered sitting lay a dress the gentle blue color of northern ice. It was beautiful, glittering with thousands of tiny crystals. There was a note pinned to it reading, "So you don't have to jump across the balcony."

Freya hesitated a moment and glanced once more around to make sure that she was alone before slipping into the dress. It had been kind of Loki to leave it for her, though she supposed that her leaping from his balcony to hers in broad daylight would have caused him a headache.

She crossed to Loki's mirror and grabbed his hairbrush from where it lay atop his bureau. Her hair was knotted from thrashing about the night before as her nightmares took hold. She must have been such a sight.

She quickly braided her hair back and crossed to the sitting area. She was beginning to wonder where Loki could be. It wasn't like him to be late—in fact, she remembered him once telling her that he reviled that sort of behavior.

Freya glanced around. H had left her the dress, perhaps he had left her a note? She crossed to one of the small, spindly tables at the other end of the room. Sure enough, there was a note. She picked it up, reading it to herself.

"Do the crowns wear the kings, or the kings the crowns? Where will the winter-skinned man go, when he learns that he has not been born of Gold? When his reflection is foreign to the eyes he's kept all his life? Will he be a monster then? Or hold the makings of a king?" Freya repeated the words to herself, her brows furrowing. Underneath was scribbled a few incomplete phrases: "Blood orphans," "someone is lost—again," "passageways."

The last word was thickly underlined, as if in had significant meaning. To Freya, it meant nothing.

"So you're up then," Loki asked from behind her, startling her. She hadn't heard him reappear.

"I thought it was a note," Freya said quickly. "I thought you left a note explaining where you'd gone."

"I did leave a note," Loki said, gesturing to it with his chin. "I figured you'd find it. You were muttering that in your sleep. I haven't made much headway with it yet."

"Oh," Freya said, her brows furrowing. She looked back at the paper with renewed interest. After a few moments more of careful study, she looked back up at him. "Where were you then? You've missed your mathematics lesson. Not that I'm complaining—" she added. It was perhaps her least favorite class.

"You'll find out soon enough," Loki said, a smile playing across his lips. Freya could tell that he'd done something, though she didn't know what. He'd worn the same look after frightening her with his pheasant pies.

Loki crossed to the bedroom. Freya stated rooted to the spot, going over the words Loki had written once more. She vaguely remembered something that felt like a vision from the night before, a dream that felt even more real than her nightmares had felt. She remembered a distinct feeling of desolateness, of agony. She racked her brain, trying to remember, but all that came to her was the now familiar winter scene and the bridge.

That and an intricately patterned blue vase, one that she clutched to her chest as if it were a child. It was intricately patterned in blues and filled with unfamiliar wildflowers. She shook her head, trying to make sense of it.

A loud banging woke her from her reverie. It seemed to shake even the floorboards. _Thor knocking_, Freya thought distastefully. Surely he didn't have to shake the whole castle.

"Would you mind getting that?" Loki asked from the other room. Freya crossed to the door without comment.

No sooner had she unlocked the door and turned the handle did it swing forth with dizzying speed. Freya leapt back just in time to dodge being flattened by it.

Thor looked positively furious, his face ruddy with anger. He froze however, when he saw Freya.

"Princess—I'm so sorry to disturb you! I meant to knock on my brother's door," Thor said, looking uncertain. He glanced around as if to check to see if he indeed had barged into the wrong room.

"It is not a problem," Freya replied, giving him a small smile. This must have been the trouble she suspected Loki of. "You do have the right room, in fact, and Loki is in his bedroom."

Thor's brows furrowed as he stared at her. "What are you doing in Loki's chambers Valfreya?"

I was saved answering by Loki's voice, once more drifting from the bedroom. "She was merely trying to rouse me. It seems I've overslept and missed my mathematics lesson."

Loki emerged and leaned lazily on the door frame, surveying Thor with mild interest. He was clad in fine silk pajamas and wore thick black slippers.

"Do not play dumb with me, brother!" Thor shouted, his anger flaring up at the sight of Loki. "I know that it was you!"

"You know what was me?" Loki replied, eyes glinting. He crossed to the couch and sat down, as if he were preparing to see a show. This only incensed Thor further.

"You dishonored Lady Sif!" Thor thundered, the color rising in his cheeks. Freya began to wonder if this level of anger could be physically tolling on him. "You sheared off all of his hair in the night, like a sneak thief!"

"Oh, keep shouting. Please brother. I'm sure that the only thing Lady Freya requires is to be deafened by you on this morn. Surely that will make her giddy with girlish glee."

"DON'T YOU—" Thor broke off, shot Freya a look and lowered his voice. "Don't you try to play this off brother. She won't even leave her chambers, she is so filled with shame."

"What a tragedy," Loki said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. He began absent-mindedly picking at his fingernails. "What ever will I do without the _pleasure_ of Sif's company?"

"You have done wrong, brother! And I expect you to set it right!" Thor thundered. His eyes flashed dangerously and he spun on his heel to leave. He paused and turned back to Freya.

"I am sorry that you had to see me like that, my Lady," he said sincerely, his head bowing. "But I cannot stand for one who is dear to me to be treated so cruelly."

"You need not apologize to me," I said lightly. Thor nodded and left Loki's apartments, closing the door perhaps a little harder than necessary.

Freya turned to Loki, her face impassive. "So that's what you were up to this morning?"

"Occasionally people need to be taken down a peg. She needed to lean the consequences of her cruel words."

Freya surveyed him evenly for a moment. "Did you really shear off all of her hair?"

Loki nodded, surveying her. Freya turned so that he wasn't able to see her face. She couldn't help it, the thought made her laugh. She tried to hold herself perfectly still, so that he couldn't see the silent laughter that was shaking her.

After a moment, Loki spoke, "You can turn around now. I'm not afraid of your sharp words."

Freya turned in confusion, one hand covering her grin. "What?"

"It's quite plain to see that you disagree. Well then, let's get it over then. Why shouldn't I have sheared Sif's hair off?"

Freya lost it. She doubled over laughing, the whole thing made funnier by Loki's disgruntled expression. It was minutes before she could herself once more.

"That was _mean_," she said, still laughing. She wiped underneath her eyes. She hadn't realized that there were tears of mirth running down her face. "But so am I, for laughing. Norns—she must have been so angry."

Loki stared at her for a moment. It was as if he were gaging her to see if she was being serious. Or perhaps he wasn't used to anyone laughing at his jokes. Freya tried to rearrange her face into something resembling neutrality.

It wasn't as if the prank itself was funny. It wasn't. However, it was clever. What was the one thing that Sif favored most? Freya could still see her flipping her golden ponytail around derisively. It was nearly poetic.

Then, on top of that, Freya had learned the value Asgardians placed on their hair. Long hair was seen to be a sign of nobility and honor. And chastity. Which merely added insult to injury in Sif's case. Everyone would see her shorn lockes and believe her to have shamed herself and gotten caught. Which was probably why Thor had been so angry. She wasn't sure, of course, but she thought that there was perhaps something there between them. Or that Sif wished it so.

"Well," Loki said finally, his face scrunched in confusion. "I was not expecting anyone else to think that was funny."

"That is because everyone else likes Sif," Freya said plainly. Loki stared at her.

"What?" she asked, taking a step back.

"You speak so plainly," he said, brows still furrowed. Freya bowed her head.

"I know, I'm sorry. I should be learning to control my tongue—"

"That's not what I meant. I meant that it was refreshing to hear someone speak their mind so."

"What do you mean? Thor just spoke his mind so loudly that I feared the windows might break."

Loki surveyed her shrewdly. "Fine then. It is refreshing to hear a mind spoken that resembles my own."

Freya was about to respond when there was another set of knocks on the door, this time more polite. Loki crossed to the door, sighing heavily.

A guard stood outside, impassive and clad in golden armor.

"Yes," Loki said shortly, leaning on the door frame.

"The Allfather has summoned you to the throne room."

Loki nodded and dismissed the guard with a wave of his hand before turning back to Freya. "Would you like to see what this bit of fun has cost me?"

Freya rolled her eyes and followed him, shaking her head. She doubted very much that the Allfather would do anything drastic to Loki. He was, after all, a son of Odin.


	12. Reparations

The throne room was nearly empty. Loki could see his father reclining on the throne, looking stony as was his usual. Thor stood to his right, glowering at Loki as he approached. Freya trailed behind in his shadow, her head bowed. He hoped she had the sense to keep her mouth shut, as he was sure that his father would look for any reason to punish her after her last outburst.

"Loki," Odin said when he finally reached the base of the throne. "What is this that Thor tells me that you did?"

"I do not know Father, I have been asleep in my chambers all morning. That is, until Thor came barging in, accusing me of shearing off the poor Lady Sif's hair."

"Did you?" Odin asked plainly.

"I would never do such a thing," Loki lied easily, his face slipping into a carefully mastered offended expression.

"Thor tells me that you two fought the day before," Odin said, staring him down.

"We never fought," Loki replied. Thor jumped in.

"It is true what he says father. They did not fight. But Sif offended him when she insulted Lady Freya," Thor said quickly. It was clear that he was just trying to do the right thing, though he was only making things harder on Loki.

"Did you do this for _that girl?_" Odin said, his voice rising. Loki took a step back, his words slipping easily over his tongue.

"Of course not Father. Of course not—because I didn't do it—"

"Tutor Erikson said that you missed your lesson today—"

"He was with me," Freya said suddenly, in a voice just loud enough to carry. She stared down at her feet as she spoke, avoiding Odin's fiery gaze. "He was with me all morning. I waylaid him and asked him to tutor me on the workings of the soul forge. I am afraid that I was too dense to understand it when Tutor Olsson explained it the other day and I wished to understand it before his next lesson. He was kind enough to oblige me."

Odin stared at her through narrowed eyes. Freya could feel his gaze, but she kept her eyes firmly planted on the stone floor. "Thor saw us, when he came up to confront Loki. I know that he didn't do it. He couldn't have. I woke him up early this morning and he never even changed out of his pajamas until you called him. It had to have been someone else."

Thor turned to Odin, his brows furrowed. "It is true what she says. Loki was wearing pajamas and Freya was studying notes when I went to talk to him. Perhaps he hadn't done it—"

"Regardless," Odin said. He knew the pair was lying, though it was becoming harder to prove. "Loki, you shall make this right. It is your duty as a prince, and as my son. I expect it done by nightfall."

Loki slunk out of the hall, Freya following. Thor had remained behind to continue some lesson with his father.

"Well," Loki said, breaking the silence, "You certainly laid it on thick, didn't you?"

"A thank you would be nice," Freya replied, though she didn't need one. Loki was right and she knew it, though she was used to lying for Freyr and whomever his flavor of the month was, which required it to be thick enough to build an amphitheater atop it.

"So how are you going to do it?" Freya asked.

"Do what?" Loki replied.

"Grow back her hair."

"I'm not."

"What do you mean, you're not."

"Do I look like I spend my time growing back hair? No. And besides, I wouldn't know where to begin."

"Well, the head, I'd say," Freya replied, fighting a smile.

"Suddenly you're so clever, is that it?"

"Well now that you mention it—"

"Save it for the theatre, Vanaheim," Loki said, turning to her. "I'm just going to take whatever punishment the Allfather dreams up once he finds out that I can't."

"Or, perhaps, we could go on an adventure."

"What are you saying Freya," Loki asked, intrigued and wary all at the same time.

"I'm saying that I know how to get Sif's hair back."

"So than tell me the spell."

"We have to go to Svartleheim."

"What do you mean, we have to go to Svartleheim?" Loki asked, anger slipping into his voice. "That is a poor jest—"

"There are smiths there that can make anything in all the realms that you may require. Two dwarves by the names of Brokk and Eitri. Were I still in possession of my things, I would show you many examples of their fine work. It is like no other."

"I am familiar with them, actually," Loki said, his eyes far away as he thought. "They crafted Thor's hammer."

"Then you know that it is our best wager then," Freya said eagerly. "I will ready provisions for the trip—" Freya turned excitedly and began practically bouncing back towards their apartments. After a second more of contemplation Loki shook his head and caught up to her, stopping her with a hand placed firmly on her shoulder.

"You cannot come with me."

"What do you mean, it was my idea—"

"That doesn't matter, Freya," Loki said sharply. "You can't leave Asgard."

"But I'll be with you."

"It doesn't matter, you're not allowed to leave to realm."

"But Loki—"

"It's not my decision, Freya. Before you even arrived the Allfather decreed that you were not to leave the realm without his express permission."

Freya stared at him angrily, her green eyes flashing. Her chest heaved. Loki could feel the atmosphere of the room change at once, feel it crackle with barely controlled magical energy.

"Don't—" Freya stopped and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath before continuing. "Don't you trust me?"

"No," Loki said plainly. Freya bristled and turned on her heel. Loki watched her go impassively.


End file.
